A Candle in the Darkness
by mille libri
Summary: No one can save the world alone. As Antonia Trevelyan struggles to find the courage to be the hero the Inquisition needs, Cullen fights the darkness of his past and present. Together, can they be the light against the shadow that threatens to swallow the world? [{f! non-mage Trevelyan/Cullen}, possible other pairings]
1. The Herald of Andraste

_A/N: So I said, "No new stories for Inquisition." I said, "I am definitely not romancing Cullen." I said, "Under no circumstances will I ever write a Cullen story." ... Well played, BioWare. _

_Seriously, though, these two and their people are such fun to write - I hope you all have as much fun reading. I love feedback - constructive criticism always welcomed - and I encourage suggestions if there are any particular scenes you want to see as this goes along. Many, many thanks to Oleander's One for encouragement, hand-holding, and all-around friendship! I have a nice buffer on this one, so expect updates every Friday for a good long while.  
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><p><em>18 Drakonis, 9:41<em>

There was a morning when Antonia Trevelyan woke up and almost knew what she was doing. It was a larger accomplishment than it sounded: Since she had fallen from the breach in the sky, the changes in her life had been many and the learning curves vast, and she had come back here to her hut and wept with frustration and fear more often than she would ever admit to. She believed she had covered it rather well—except from Varric, whose keen eyes seemed to see inside her on occasion. But he had said nothing, for which she was grateful.

Getting dressed, she left the hut, heading for Haven's Chantry. It was cold outside, as it always was, even though in the rest of Thedas she thought it was spring, with the sun's warmth just bringing the plants to life. Haven seemed to exist out of time, somehow.

She heard snatches of conversation as she made her way through the camp: "Really? I hadn't heard", and "What's that in the pot?" and "Well, I won't stand for that", and "Look, it's the Herald of Andraste!"

Antonia had finally stopped looking around when she heard that name, wondering where this blessed Herald might be. She had a hard time believing that she had been touched by the Maker's Bride—she was just a minor noble from Ostwick, who had been assisting at the Conclave in a clerical position. Not that there was anything wrong with that. She took pride in her family heritage, and in the studies that had made her a useful addition to the Conclave. Growing up, she'd been left alone in the family estate in the country quite a bit, and had whiled away her time by studying. By far the youngest in her family, she had always known her role was to be part of the Chantry, unless an extremely advantageous marriage could be arranged for her. As a young child, she had been told by her father that he intended her to be a Templar one day, which is how a young member of Marcher nobility had trained in the use of a greatsword with one of the Free Marches' greatest swordsmen.

By the time she was in her teens, talk of her becoming a Templar had died away, but by then she had grown to love her bouts in the training ring, using her muscles in addition to her brain, learning a different kind of focus, so she had kept it up.

The irony that the only survivor of the Conclave would happen to be someone learned in both books and battle was not lost on Antonia—but to believe that Andraste had somehow chosen her for this role was to believe that the Maker's Bride had also somehow intended the Conclave to be destroyed, and with it so many good people, and for this chaos to be unleashed on the world, and that Antonia could not fathom. It was easier by far for her to believe that her survival, and the mark on her hand that somehow spoke to the rifts in the sky, were coincidence, and that she was still a person, just like all those she passed on her way every day.

But she couldn't argue with every person who addressed her by the title, and she had come to see the wisdom in what her advisors argued—that the people needed to believe, whether she did or not. The people needed to think that Andraste was looking out for them, and that she had sent a Herald down to Thedas to reassure them that somehow everything would come right.

Shaking off her deep thoughts, Antonia looked up. She smiled when she saw Cullen, the Commander of the Inquisition's forces, waiting for her outside the Chantry.

"Are you here to see that I don't trip over my feet or get lost on the way to the War Room?" she asked.

"Not at all. You've never seemed prone to either one—don't sell yourself short." He walked with her, holding the heavy Chantry doors open with the courtesy that was such an intrinsic part of him.

When Antonia had first been shown around Haven and told about her role in the Inquisition, she had been reluctant, overwhelmed, still fighting against what appeared to be her destiny. Leliana, who led the Inquisition's spy corps, had been unyielding in her insistence that Antonia embrace her role, her eyes gleaming with the zeal of a true believer. If Leliana didn't believe Antonia had been touched by Andraste, she faked it very well. Cassandra, who was Antonia's unofficial jailer in those first days when they still weren't sure what to make of her, and had become her trainer and companion in the days since, had been instrumental in forming the Inquisition—if Leliana was a true believer, Cassandra came close to being a zealot. There had been no escape from the scrutiny of either woman, no chance to relax or to come to terms with how she, Antonia, could fit into the Herald's body. Josephine Montilyet, an Antivan whose family Antonia knew slightly, oversaw the Inquisition's diplomacy, and she rarely had time for more than a brief chat.

It had been Cullen who made time for Antonia to continue the combat training that kept her centered, Cullen who answered her many questions, Cullen who made sure she was taking time to eat and sleep in her otherwise hectic schedule. Antonia was grateful to him—if he had ever had doubts about her fitness to act in the role she'd been assigned, he had never expressed them in word or deed, and his easy warmth and confidence had gone a long way toward making her feel comfortable in Haven. If it hadn't been for Cullen and Varric, she'd have either run screaming down the mountainside or gone completely insane, she thought.

"What's on the agenda today?" she asked Cullen now.

"I believe the usual—spies and diplomats and soldiers. Something like a child's strategy game, I sometimes think. Did you ever play such things, growing up?"

Antonia shook her head. "I was alone much of the time. I suppose I could have played against myself, but who would I have crowed to when I won?" She smiled, glad to see Cullen's smile in return. He tended toward the serious, but as Antonia grew more comfortable with him she was finding a light-hearted side of him peek out in response to her occasional irreverences. She'd never been a person who was comfortable being serious all the time—even in the dark days they were living through, Antonia felt they needed humor to remind them what they were fighting for. Thus far, Cullen and occasionally Varric were the only people she felt comfortable showing that side to, and when they responded in kind, she felt for a moment like the Antonia Trevelyan she knew.

As they came into the War Room, Leliana and Josephine were leaning over the long table, murmuring intensely about some problem. They looked up as she came in, and for a moment Antonia saw herself through their eyes. At 26, she was far younger than all the others in the room—while she'd never been forward enough to ask, she knew Josephine was in her mid-30s, and the others appeared to be roughly contemporary with the Antivan. In addition to her youth, Antonia was slight of build, her shoulders narrow. She wore her hair short-cropped and it had a tendency to tousle—she hardly looked like nobility anymore, and she certainly didn't appear to outward glance as a warrior. And to her cost, Antonia well knew that her big brown eyes and open face were far too expressive for any kind of competent spycraft. It was moments like these, standing there under the scrutiny of people who actually knew what they were doing, that she felt least like the chosen of anyone.

"Herald, why don't you come look at the fortification plan for the gates?" Cullen said, coming to her rescue as he had so often before.

She followed him, bending over the schematic, frowning at it. Reading schematics was another skill she'd never possessed before, but learning how to study them and find the flaws was a challenge she enjoyed, like the swordcraft. By the time she and Cullen had finished going over it and fine-tuning it, the atmosphere in the War Room had changed into something more collaborative, and they were all able to continue the meeting.

At the end of the meeting, Antonia felt she was being dismissed. Cassandra walked her out, leaving Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine together at the table. It was hard to decide how she felt about that. In some ways, Antonia resented being treated like a child. In other ways, she understood it—after all, she had fallen from the sky in rather mysterious circumstances, and they didn't really know her yet. And in yet another way, she was glad. To have stood up and asked for a larger role in the decision-making would have made this all very real, cementing her change into the Herald of Andraste, and Antonia just wasn't certain she was ready for that yet.

Later, after a long lunch with Varric and Cassandra—who sniped at each other constantly, but seemed to enjoy their mutual hostility—she changed into her combat gear and headed out for the training ground. The shouts could be heard distinctly in the clear, cold air around Haven. The men enjoyed the work they were doing, and they believed in their leader. In return, Cullen took his responsibilities toward them very seriously.

There seemed to be more than she remembered, which Cullen confirmed as she joined him. Locals from Haven and even some pilgrims from other parts of Thedas were coming to join them every day.

Antonia had to wonder why. What brought them to this cold, inhospitable place in the back end of nowhere, to follow a young girl who had no more idea than they did what she was doing there?

Cullen turned his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "None of the new recruits have made quite the entrance you did, I have to say."

She smiled. "I suppose I did get everyone's attention."

"That you did." He walked toward a man who was holding out a bound parchment to him, talking as they went. "I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall. I was there during the mage uprising, and I witnessed the devastation it caused. You can ask Varric sometime if you want a first-hand account. He's the storyteller." Cullen took the parchment, looking it over quickly. With a brisk nod, he handed it back. "Cassandra sought a solution. When she offered me a role within the Inquisition, I left the Templars for a new cause. And I'm glad I did—now it seems we face something far worse."

Antonia nodded. "The Conclave destroyed, a giant hole in the sky—things aren't looking good."

"Which is why we're needed," Cullen said. "The Chantry lost control of both the Templars and the mages, and now they sit there arguing about a new Divine while the Breach remains. But the Inqusition can still act, even if the Chantry won't. Our followers would be part of that. There's so much we can—" He stopped himself, gesturing at her training gear. "But you know all this, and I doubt you came out here for a lecture."

"Well, no," Antonia agreed. She grinned at him. "But if you have one prepared, I'd love to hear it."

Cullen laughed. "Another time, perhaps."

They looked at one another, and something shifted in the air between them. Up until that moment, Antonia had seen him as a mentor, as an older man who had been kind to her, as a friend. Now she realized with some surprise, looking up into his eyes, that Cullen was quite an attractive man, and she felt a warmth flow through her that she had not expected at all.

Whatever Cullen was thinking, it appeared to be just as unexpected to him, because he looked away, clearing his throat nervously. "There's … still a lot of work ahead," he said, but his voice was softer, somehow, than it had been a minute ago.

Fortunately for Antonia's peace of mind, and she imagined for Cullen's as well, they were interrupted by a scout reporting in. Cullen raised his eyebrows in her direction, with a small smile. "As I was saying." He left with the scout, leaving Antonia grateful that he seemed willing to ignore whatever had just happened between them.

She took to the practice ground with a ferocious intensity, trying to convince herself that this was neither the time nor the place for any feelings of that nature, but deep inside her that warmth still remained.


	2. An Epic Romance Begins

_Thanks, everyone, for the enthusiastic response to the first chapter! To say that I'm obsessed with writing this story would be an understatement, and I've been looking forward to posting chapter 2 all week. :) I hope you enjoy it!_

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><p><em>7 Bloomingtide, 9:41<em>

Closing the door to the Chantry's dining hall gently behind her, Antonia heaved a sigh of relief. It had been a long, tedious meal, during which she was stuck between a nobleman who recounted every bloody detail of every combat he'd ever been in while forking in great bleeding bites of the rare steak he had requested and a noblewoman who had minutely inspected every bite she took in. Antonia wasn't certain what she had been looking for.

Neither of them had contributed to Antonia's enjoyment of her own meal. She had been very happy when Josephine had given her the sign that it was time for her to retire—they had determined some time ago that Antonia's presence was not always conducive to good diplomacy. The nobles had a hard time talking business, in their tortuously oblique ways, when the Herald herself was present, and Antonia had little talent for such conversation. She knew how; that had been part of her training in childhood, but she had never excelled at the level Josephine did, and that was what was required in their current situation.

As she passed the entrance to the tombs, which doubled as a wine cellar, a loud _hsst_ caught her attention, and Varric appeared out of the shadows. Something inside his coat clinked, and he put his hand over it hastily, looking around to see if anyone had heard.

"Good," he said. "I've been waiting for you. Come on, we're late."

"Late for what?"

"No time to talk, Herald." He looked up at her. "Do you trust me?"

"I … suppose."

"Then come on."

Intrigued, she followed him out of the Chantry. They took a sharp left into the cluster of huts there; the potion-master lived in one, Solas in another, and last she heard Dorian had commandeered the third. It was that one Varric led her to, and she was surprised to hear laughing voices within.

"What's this?"

"Do you always ask so many questions?" Varric knocked on the door in a particular pattern. It opened, and Antonia and Varric were whisked inside into the warmth of the room. Looking around, Antonia saw Dorian and Vivienne, and the Iron Bull sprawled across Dorian's bed for lack of a chair that would fit him.

"What are you all doing here?"

"We thought we could all use a break," Varric said, producing several bottles of wine from under his coat. Antonia happened to know that some of those were from Josephine's personal collection. "Fortunately, the wine bottles didn't feel the same." He grinned.

"All?" Antonia asked, looking around.

"Well … I asked Blackwall, and he looked at me as though he didn't understand the meaning of the word 'party' and walked away shaking his head. His loss." Dorian sighed, popping the cork on a wine bottle and filling a tankard. He offered it to Antonia.

Why not? she decided, and accepted it, taking an appreciative sip. It was _very_ good.

"I spoke to Sera," Vivienne said, "and she said something that might have been in Common and might have been in …" She looked around at the assembled company, and finished with, "Rivaini. I understood her to mean that she thinks we are all very boring. And thank the Maker for that." She accepted a tankard and breathed in the bouquet of the wine with a blissful smile on her face.

"Chuckles," Varric said, gesturing toward Solas's hut but using his pet nickname for the elf, "said that he was likely to see some of us in the Fade later, if we 'retained enough awareness to walk there,'" he finished, in a passable imitation of the elf.

All three of them turned to look at the Iron Bull, who looked abashed. "I … didn't ask Cassandra." He looked up. "Fine—she scares me. Are you all happy now?"

"And of course the triumvirate are all too big and grand for a simple little boozer like this," Varric said. He seemed to be watching Antonia very closely, and she decided not to leap to Cullen's defense. Cullen was still at that very boring dinner party, anyway, being courteous to a lot of stuffy nobles on the behalf of the cause she led. It was not at all his type of event, but every once in a while there was an ex-soldier he had to impress, and Antonia's dinner companion was one of those, so Cullen was stuck for the night. For a moment, she considered going back to liberate him, but the others all seemed to be having a good time here, and a chance to relax did sound nice.

"What gave you this idea, Varric?" she asked, taking the chair he pointed out.

"It's so serious around here. All anyone ever thinks about is doom and gloom and honor and self-sacrifice. It's damned depressing." He took a deep swallow and held his tankard out to be refilled. "Back in Kirkwall, we had the Hanged Man to go to—everyone had known Hawke before she became the big Champion, and it was one place we could all relax."

"Here there is no such place," Dorian said. "Everywhere you go, my dear girl, people melt away as though afraid they'll sully you if they so much as breathe on you."

That was true enough, Antonia reflected. Anytime she walked into a room, all conversation ceased. It was most disconcerting.

"We, as your companions, are treated similarly. There is little chance for us to spend time together without having the rest of the camp hanging on our every word, certain we will drop some variety of hint about you, or regarding the goals of the Inquisition or the inner workings." Vivienne sighed.

"So we thought we should get together, and it just so happened the Vint here—er, Dorian had a place to himself." The Bull swallowed the entire contents of his tankard in what appeared to be one long gulp.

"That is very expensive wine, my dear. You should savor it," Vivienne said.

He frowned into the tankard, clearly trying to decide if savoring would have been worth it. "Maybe I'll just have some more."

Sighing, Vivienne handed him a bottle. "Or you could do that."

"How _did_ you get a hut to yourself, Dorian?" Antonia asked.

"Why, how else? I walked in and claimed it. Someone was very surprised when he came home and found me here, but we … came to an arrangement." He raised one eyebrow suggestively.

"He means he paid the poor sod," Varric corrected. "So, how about it, Herald? You ready to drink some booze, have a few laughs—"

"Do a little dance, make a little love?" Dorian finished for him. All four faces turned to him in surprise, and he shrugged. "What? We were all thinking it. Anyone care to put coin down on who will be the first to … I believe 'knock boots' is your quaint little phrase?"

"Darling." Vivienne smiled at him. "If you had visited Orlais once upon a time you would know that Josephine and Leliana have already preceded us all in that matter."

"You don't say." The Bull's one remaining eye widened, then closed, and a smile spread across his face that left no doubt as to what he was picturing.

Vivienne gave an exaggerated shudder. "You are disgusting."

"Want to see how much?" Bull grinned at her.

"Children, children, settle down," Dorian said, waving at them both. "Antonia, dear girl, is there anything you want to do with your evening off?"

She sighed, leaning back, letting the warmth and the wine and the friendship in the room do their work. "I spend all day either fighting, or asking people questions. I think, if you don't mind, I would most enjoy just sitting here and listening."

"As you wish." He gave a courtly bow, or as much of one as he could do while seated. "Then I suppose it is up to us to be entertaining. Vivienne and I can do magic tricks, Varric can tell stories …" He looked at the Iron Bull, raising an eyebrow in question.

With a wild grin, the Bull sat up and proceeded to pop his pecs in a most impressive fashion.

"Ladies and gentlemen, that's our show for the evening," Dorian said.

"Please tip your waitress." Varric proceeded to do so—tipping up a bottle over his own tankard to refill it.

"Varric, tell us about the Champion of Kirkwall, will you?" Antonia asked.

"You want to hear about Hawke? I thought you'd read my book."

"I believe, my dear, that she would like to hear some tales that didn't make the book," Vivienne said.

"Oh, those. Well … there's always the time Hawke found a peeping Tom in her wardrobe." Varric chuckled to himself before launching into the story.

Hours later, Antonia pushed herself up out of the chair. She had limited her consumption of wine, so she was relatively steady on her feet—as was Varric, she noticed. The Iron Bull was passed out snoring in Dorian's bed, while Dorian was staring broodily into the fire, the last bottle of wine in his hand.

"I don't know what it is about people from Tevinter, and wine, and fires, and brooding," Varric whispered to Antonia. "Fenris used to do it, too, for years. I always thought he'd get tired of it, but he never seemed to."

Vivienne had already left, wanting to get back to her quarters in the Chantry before the visiting nobles had finished their post-dinner negotiations.

"Should we … cover them up or something?" Antonia whispered to Varric, watching as Dorian's head nodded, his eyes closing. He kept his hold on the bottle, though.

"Nah, they'll be fine. Come on, Herald, I'll walk you home." When she looked about to protest, he grinned at her. "My tent's about ten feet from your door—it's not like I'm going out of my way."

"Gallantly put."

"That's me, last of the chevaliers."

After the heat of Dorian's hut, the night outside was refreshingly cool. Antonia lifted her face to the breeze.

"Sorry I couldn't find a way to get the Commander along," Varric said unexpectedly.

"What?"

"Now, Herald, don't go coy on me. I know longing looks when I see them—I certainly saw enough of them between Hawke and Broody. Eight years, or some ridiculous number like that." He shook his head. "I hope you know how to conduct an epic romance better than they did."

"Varric, I have no intention of conducting any romance, epic or otherwise."

"Oh, you say that now."

She did say it now—she said it to herself in the mirror every morning, trying to convince herself that the fluttering of her heart and the shortness of her breath at certain times when Cullen looked at her were passing fancies, and would go away if she ignored them long enough. So far nothing had helped. It wasn't just that he was an attractive man, although he was that. Since she'd first noticed, she'd made what she hoped was a surreptitious study of the subject, and had come to the conclusion that he was very fine-looking indeed. But he was also kind, and funny, and intelligent, and warm, and generous with his time and scrupulous in his responsibilities toward his men. Every day she found something else to like about him.

Varric was looking up at her knowingly, and she shook her head. "Do you know everything that goes on around here, Varric?"

"Only the things that make good stories." At her frown, he hastened to reassure her. "No one's telling anyone anything, Herald. Not until you say the word."

"Does … anyone else …" She didn't want to say 'know', because there was really nothing to know, except the way she foolishly couldn't keep her mind on the task at hand.

"Not that I can tell. Hm, possibly Sparkler," his nickname for Dorian, "but he likes you; he won't say anything. We all like you, Herald." Varric stopped walking, looking up at her with a rare seriousness on his face. "I know you think you can't handle this, and you're not special enough, and you're not ready, but we've all seen you—and we have your back. You can do this."

Antonia blinked back tears at his unexpected support. "Thank you, Varric."

"Anytime, my lady." He bowed before her. "And now, I believe we are at your door."

They were; she hadn't even noticed.

"Varric."

"Hm?"

"What would you do, in my place?"

"Oh, that's a loaded question, Herald. You might want to be more specific."

"About … what we were just talking about." She was certain her blush was visible across the camp.

"Ah. Sorry, Herald, I'm not one for romantic advice. I sleep with a crossbow, remember?"

"Do you really?"

"Better than a teddy bear." Varric winked at her, then sighed. "But if you really want my opinion—"

"You did work with the Champion, after all, and she— Well, when a person is in my position, or hers, and has the responsibility for so many people's lives on their hands, does she have the right—"

"To be responsible for her own life and happiness?" Varric finished for her.

"Exactly. Shouldn't my needs come last?"

"If they do, you'll burn yourself out. Look, what happened in Kirkwall—slowly but surely, it took from Hawke everything she valued. The only thing she ever got back from it was Fenris. And possibly me."

"Certainly you; I'm sure you were as indispensable to her as you are to me." Antonia smiled at him with affection.

"Aw, shucks, ma'am." He made a show of scuffing at the frozen dirt with the toe of his boot. "Seriously, though—if you don't take time out for something that makes you happy, something that matters to you, then someday there won't be enough of you left to care about the rest of it."

Antonia nodded. "That's a new way to think about it; I'll have to give it some consideration." She turned away toward her door. "Good-night, Varric."

"Herald?"

"What is it?" She turned back to look at him.

"What I said, about taking something that makes you happy … Before you decide that that's Cullen, be sure. He's been through a lot, and—well, call me a sap, but I wouldn't want to see either of you get hurt. I don't know if either of you could stand it, and I'm pretty sure the Inquisition couldn't."

It was a new blow to her hopes, just as she had started to let them rise. There was a vulnerable part to Cullen that she had only glimpsed occasionally, when he brushed up against certain topics in conversation, and she wouldn't want to have him hurt, or to lose the easy camaraderie between them.

"I wouldn't rush into anything, not with so much at stake," she said. "And I wouldn't hurt him for the world."

Varric smiled. "And an epic romance begins. Good-night, Herald."


	3. The Dark Shadow

_Friday again! Thanks to all of you for reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing - you really make my day. _

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><p><em>28 Solace, 9:41<em>

This was far from the first time Cullen had prepared himself to die. It was practically getting to be a habit. And he didn't mind, necessarily—this life had not been so wonderful that he would regret laying it aside to go join the Maker, at least, not overmuch. What he regretted this time was that everything they had all worked toward in Haven would die, too, and with it, possibly the last hope for peace in Thedas.

It was only with reluctance that he had given the order to fall back to the Chantry on the appearance of the great dragon. Left to himself, he'd have stood and fought to the last drop of blood rather than run. But the men who fought under him had given as much as they could—they couldn't fight this dragon, and they deserved at least a chance to live. He imagined none of them were quite as prepared to give up their lives as he was.

Most of Haven was gathered in the Chantry, other than the Herald and the small team she had out with her, and they had been safely inside the gates of the village before he came to the Chantry.

She was there when he came into the main hall, and Cullen tried to stifle the immediate flood of relief he felt. He wasn't surprised to see that she had collected as many stragglers from the village as she could; she cared about the people who made up the Inquisition. He had seen her making the rounds of the village, talking to the people, something neither he nor Leliana nor Josephine had ever managed to find time to do. Cullen knew Antonia didn't think she was an important part of the Inquisition's leadership, but she didn't see the way people looked to her to decide what to do—and not just because of the mark on her hand.

"Herald," he said, drawing her attention. "Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us."

The strange spirit Cole, kneeling beside the injured Chancellor Roderick, spoke up. "I've seen an Archdemon. I was in the Fade, but it looked like that."

To Cullen, whether the dragon was actually an Archdemon or not was beside the point. Either way, it was going to destroy Haven. Time enough to worry about what it was after they decided how to deal with it. "I don't care what it looks like," he snapped. "It's cut a path for that army. They'll kill everyone in Haven!"

"The Elder One doesn't care about the village," Cole said. "He only wants the Herald."

Antonia seemed as exasperated by the boy's hints as Cullen was. "If you know why he wants me, just say it."

"I don't. He's too loud. It hurts to hear him. He wants to kill you—no one else matters, but he'll crush them, kill them anyway. I don't like him."

Desperately, Cullen tried to make a plan. This was what he was good at, why they had put him in command of the Inquisition's armies. He was supposed to be able to find a way to fight this thing. But Haven was largely indefensible, surrounded by snow, and they were alone against an invading army they simply didn't have the force to stop.

"Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable." The words felt like acid on his tongue. He reached for the last weapon left. "The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide."

Antonia frowned. "We're overrun. To hit the enemy, we'd bury Haven."

"You're right, we would. But we're dying anyway. At least we can decide how—many don't get that choice." He hated to have to say such a thing to someone so young and promising, with her whole life ahead of her. She was only about ten years younger than he was, but he felt as though he'd lived an age in those ten years ... something he reminded himself of every time he looked into her big brown eyes and found himself wanting things he should have known better than to think of.

Cole cut into the conversation again on Roderick's behalf, and the Chancellor explained about a hidden path out of Haven.

"What about it, Cullen?" Antonia asked him. "Will it work?"

"Possibly, if he shows us the path. But ... what of your escape?" They couldn't carry on this Inquisition without her.

She looked away from him, and a coldness settled around his heart. She would go anyway, even knowing there was no way out.

Of course she would—she would face the Elder One and his dragon, and let the rest of them escape. And the reason she had to do that was that he, Cullen, whose responsibility it had been to give her an army that could protect her, had failed. He wanted to insist that she let him stay behind; at least he could defend her himself. But the greater good demanded that he lead the people to safety, and give meaning to her sacrifice. "Perhaps ... you will surprise it, find a way ..." But it was unlikely at best, more probably impossible, and he was convincing no one, least of all Antonia. He made sure everyone was on their feet, following Chancellor Roderick as he limped along with his arm slung over Cole's shoulder. Once he saw people moving, he turned back to Antonia. A group of soldiers ran out to load the trebuchets for the last time. "Keep the Elder One's attention until we're above the tree line, if you can."

Antonia nodded, squaring her narrow shoulders. There was no hesitation in her, and he admired it and despaired over it at the same time.

"If we are to have a chance—if _you_ are to have a chance—" a hope he would cling to as long as he could— "let that thing hear you."

Her beautiful eyes wide, she nodded again. For a moment, he thought she was going to say something to him, and his heart leaped in spite of the situation they were in. Then she turned away, preparing to face the dragon.

Cullen left her before he could delay the moment by telling her any of the thousand things she made him feel. He hurried away while he still could, calling for the Inquisition to assemble behind Chancellor Roderick, and to move, for the Maker's sake. This one last thing he could do for her.

Standing above the tree line, watching the avalanche cover everything they had worked toward, Cullen felt the dark shadow that had been reaching out to touch him with its cold fingers recede again. First, during the Blight, when the Hero of Ferelden had released him from the demons' prison; then in Kirkwall, when Hawke had defended them all against the madness of Knight-Commander Meredith; and now in Haven, where the newest hero had given her life for their safety. How many more times would he escape that shadow before it closed over him at last?

The next morning found him putting together a pack of supplies. Leliana came to him. "Cullen, why are you doing this? She is gone; no one could have lived through that."

"She survived the Conclave; we don't know that something of similar unlikelihood didn't happen here." He shouldered the pack, looking down at Leliana with determination. "She stayed behind so we could escape; I won't leave her out there alone if there's even the smallest chance she's still alive." _Not when she's only there because I failed her_, he thought, but he didn't say that to Leliana. "At the very least, I can find her—her body, and see her properly to the Maker."

"It's a blizzard! How will you see anything?"

"How will she?" he countered.

"Commander?" Several soldiers stood there, looking at him anxiously. "Are you going after the Herald? Because we're going with you."

There was a chorus of agreement. Looking around, Cullen saw mages, Templars, Cassandra the Seeker, dwarves, elves, humans, the big Qunari the Iron Bull and his mercenaries, Dorian the Tevinter, all ready to go with him. In her sacrifice, Antonia Trevelyan had created an Inquisition, where before there had been only a small band of earnest people with little to nothing in common. Now, they were all coming together with one united goal. He hoped she had a chance to know what she had done.

He chose several of the biggest and strongest to come with him. It was undeniably hard going, the winds sharp and cutting into their faces, the snow so deep they were blazing new trails with every step, and visibility poor because it was all still swirling around in the air, the snow that had come down in the avalanche still settling.

Then he saw something ahead, and held up his hand for everyone to stop. His heart pounded, while his more rational brain told him it must be a wolf, or some other forest creature. But did wolves carry greatswords that glinted through the swirling snow?

"There! It's her!" He began to run as best he could. She was struggling toward them, but her steps were slowing, and as he came closer she fell to her knees, unable to go any further. Cullen dropped his pack, catching her before she could collapse fully into the snow. Her head fell back, her beautiful brown eyes hazy as they looked up into his. He thought perhaps she said something, maybe even his name, before she lost consciousness completely.

He carried her back to the refugee camp himself, with all her people behind him.


	4. The Dawn Will Come

_Bonus chapter today, because Christmas, among other reasons! Many thanks to all of you for reading - knowing you're enjoying this as much as I am is a gift every day. Special thanks and warm Christmas wishes to Oleander's One for suggestions, advice, hand-holding, and all-around support. _

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><p><em>30 Solace, 9:41<em>

Antonia shifted restlessly in the blankets. She was still cold and weakened from her long ordeal in the snow, despite Dorian's fire spells and the hot soup Josephine had brought her and the warm blankets Varric had parted with. Sleeping in bedrolls in the open air wasn't helping her—or any of them. She knew the Inquisition was looking to her to lead them, to tell them what to do and where to go, but she didn't know any better than they did. And her advisors—

She winced, listening to the raised voices. They were at it again.

"What would you have me tell them?" Cullen was saying. "This isn't what we asked them to do."

Cassandra snapped back at him. "We cannot simply ignore this! We must find a way."

"And who put you in charge?" he asked. "We need a consensus, or we have nothing."

Antonia put a hand to her head. No one was getting any sleep at this rate.

"Please, we must use reason," Josephine pleaded. "Without the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we're hobbled!"

"That can't come from nowhere!" Cullen shouted.

Antonia had never heard him so angry, and she wondered why. They were all in the same boat, after all—the soldiers weren't suffering any more than anyone else. Possibly they were in better shape for being more used to living outdoors. But she hadn't had a chance to talk to him at all, so perhaps there was more to his anger than that.

He had come by once or twice in the last few days while she had been recovering, but only to offer a courteous wish for her continued well-being. She hadn't even had the chance to thank him for leading the rescue party—if he hadn't, she might very well have frozen to death there in the snow.

"She didn't say it could!" Leliana snapped back at Cullen. Antonia rubbed her forehead, wishing she could yell at them all to just shut up.

Cassandra shouted, "Enough! This is getting us nowhere!"

"Well, we're agreed on that much," Cullen said bitingly.

Antonia sat up, prepared to charge into the middle of them, but just the movement made her dizzy.

Next to her, Mother Giselle said, "Sh. You need rest. And food." She put a warm piece of skillet bread into Antonia's hands. "You have to rebuild your strength."

"Who can rest?" Antonia said, devouring the bread. "They've been at it for hours. Is there any more?"

Mother Giselle chuckled and gave her an apple. "They have that luxury, thanks to you. The enemy could not follow ... and with time to doubt, we turn to blame."

"That's not productive."

"No. Infighting may threaten us as much as this Corypheus."

Antonia rubbed her temples. It was all so hazy; she could dimly remember Corypheus flying off on his corrupted dragon. "Do we know where Corypheus and his forces are now?"

Mother Giselle smiled a little. "We are not sure where _we_ are. Which may be why despite the numbers he still commands, there has been no sign of him. That, or he believes you dead. Or, without Haven, we are believed helpless. Or he readies for another attack."

"None of those are exactly comforting," Antonia said.

From across the camp, Cullen could see her deep in conversation with Mother Giselle. He was glad to note that she was sitting up, and there appeared to be some color in her face again. Since he had brought her back to camp, he hadn't been able to bring himself to go near her other than for the few minutes courtesy demanded; seeing her white, wan face and hearing her voice, so feeble, brought home to him exactly how close it had been. And that had been his fault, because he hadn't been prepared for Corypheus.

"Cullen, I do not know what you expect us to do," Leliana said, calling him back to the argument at hand.

"We can't just sit here!"

"We know that," Cassandra snapped. "Yelling at us that the situation is untenable does not make it more tenable." She was looking at him with measuring eyes, and he wondered if she could tell that the effects of the lyrium withdrawal had been worse recently. He was feverish, which was always a bad sign.

On the other side of the fire, Mother Giselle looked kindly at Antonia. "Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand ... and fall. And now we have seen her return."

Antonia sighed heavily. She had had just about enough of this.

"The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear, and the more our trials seem ordained." Mother Giselle must have seen the immediate negation that rose to Antonia's lips, because she smiled and raised a hand. "That is hard to accept, no? What 'we' have been called to endure? What 'we', perhaps, must come to believe?"

"Mother Giselle, I am not touched by Andraste, and we were not meant to be here. Our own actions brought us here—Chancellor Roderick's path, and Cole's ability to hear his thoughts, and Commander Cullen's leadership."

"It is hard for others to view it that way—they want to see protection where you see none, to see ordination where you see free will. And the people know what they saw." She lifted her head and looked at Cullen across the camp.

Cullen saw Mother Giselle's eyes on him, and he turned around so that he wouldn't be tempted to look again. Until the attack on Haven, he had thought of Antonia as a beautiful woman, yes, and a strong and intelligent and courageous one, but he hadn't realized how important she had become to him personally until he had had to leave her; until he had gone back to find her and been unable to contemplate what he would do if she were truly lost somewhere beneath the snow.

Now he was caught somewhere between duty and inclination, between the oaths he had sworn to the Inquisition and what he owed to her. He wanted to go to her and apologize, to assure himself that she was recovering from her ordeal, to ... to touch her and feel that she was truly real.

But the Inquisition needed him more, and they needed her recovered, so he had kept his distance, renewing to himself the vow he had made to serve the Inquisition to the best of his ability—and further dedicating himself to ensuring that what had happened in Haven would never be allowed to happen again. Which meant somewhere more secure than this tent city, somewhere they could defend.

Cullen had known a fair number of women in the course of his life—other Templars, mages, citizens of Kirkwall, and now, of course, he was the only man in the leadership of the Inquisition. So he had had to get used to spending time around women, but he had never felt as comfortable with a woman as he was with Antonia, never enjoyed talking to someone as much. She was very well-read, interested in learning new things, quick to pick up on new concepts, and her warmth and humor set her apart from all the other women he had ever known.

If he had needed one final thing to cement his opinion of her, she had chosen to sacrifice herself for the good of them all—chosen without hesitation or doubt. His feelings ever since made it impossible for him to deny that what he felt for her went beyond friendship. He had no illusions about how poorly timed or how unlikely to be reciprocated those feelings were, but he could no longer pretend to himself not to have them.

He drew his attention back to the camp, realizing that he was now standing alone. Josephine and Leliana had wearied of the argument, sitting together. He had never seen Leliana look so defeated. She sat with her knees drawn up, her face buried in her folded arms. Josephine, next to her, looked so out of place here in her shiny satin blouse—she must be freezing, Cullen thought.

Cassandra was standing over his maps, looking desperately for answers. And he? What would he do now? Surely there was something he could do of value—but he couldn't seem to think properly, the familiar headache tightening at his temples. The whispers would come next, the shadows of his past coming back to haunt him, and he thought of the box hidden among his things. Did he owe it to the Inquisition to take the lyrium right now, to be working at his peak capabilities?

He heard movement behind him, and looked around to see Antonia on her feet, for the first time since the avalanche. His heart lifted; despite the look of weariness in her face, it was good to see her up and about.

Mother Giselle's voice came from behind Antonia, raised in song. An old song, one Cullen had not heard in years, but it was familiar, and it caught the attention of everyone in camp.

Leliana lifted her head, looking at Mother Giselle as she came to stand next to Antonia; Josephine and Cassandra looked up as well.

And then Leliana's clear, pure voice joined in the second verse, and around Cullen the people came gathering, voice after voice joining in the song. Across the space between them he looked at Antonia—she had survived, he reminded himself. Whatever had happened, she had survived, the Inquisition had survived, and there was time to rebuild better than what Haven had had to offer. He, too, lifted up his voice and joined in the song, and the shadows that had been gathering around him receded for now.

Antonia could hear Cullen's voice, mellow and deep and smooth, above everyone else's, and she focused on it, feeling it soothe the aching of her head and warm her all through. People were gathering from all around them, coming into the small clearing of tents. And all around her they were kneeling ... to her, she realized with some dismay.

She wanted to tell them to get up; she was no one to kneel to. She was only a woman, just like them, she thought, get up, get up! But next to her, Mother Giselle gestured to her to look around her, to see the difference. They were singing; they had hope and new strength, and if kneeling to her, looking on her as some kind of leader was the way to get there, perhaps she had to let them. Clinging to her own stubborn belief in who she was mattered to her, but it didn't help the Inquisition, not today.

And then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the one person, other than herself, who wasn't singing. Solas stood, watching them all. It made sense that he might not know the song ... but the look on his face was more than that. It sent a shiver down Antonia's back, although she couldn't have said why, and she wanted to enfold the rest of the Inquisition and pull them to her, to protect them.

In that moment, she accepted her role; whatever it cost her, she would be the leader they needed her to be.


	5. As Am I

_Skyhold at last! Now we'll have some fun. Thanks to all of you for reading - have a happy and safe New Year, and I'll see you next Friday. :)_

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><p><em>21 August, 9:41<em>

Antonia came down the steps of Skyhold, looking around her at the hustle and bustle. She wasn't sure which she found more astonishing—that a structure this large and this perfect for the Inquisition had just been sitting here in the mountains conveniently near Haven; that Solas had somehow known it was there; or that so much work had already been done in making it livable.

Most of them were still living in tents, but jumbles of furnishings had been found lying around in the turrets and in various corners, so Antonia was certain that they would all be sorted out in time and places found for everyone.

And she knew exactly who to credit with much of the organization. While Leliana had focused on putting her spy network back in place, and Josephine was occupied in making sure their contacts from other countries knew how to find them, and were physically able to get up the roads, Cullen had been the one to take on the burden of putting Skyhold together. He had, admittedly, thrown himself into its fortifications with a feverish intensity that caused some concern in the rest of the leadership, but it needed to be done, and Antonia could hardly have ordered him to stand down because she was vaguely disquieted by his manner. She did have the power to give orders now, having stopped fighting against what appeared to be her destiny and accepted the title and responsibilities of Inquisitor. If the rest of them felt she was strong enough to handle the role and powerful enough to act as the public face of the Inquisition, she would trust their judgment.

She hadn't spoken to Cullen much since the attack on Haven, too afraid that she would say more than she should. They were still colleagues, but the friendly chats they had shared in Haven had gone by the wayside. Antonia just didn't trust herself near him.

After the night of drinking with her companions, and Varric's advice, she had tried to put her feelings for Cullen aside, telling herself that if they were real, she would know it, and until that point there was little value, and much distraction, in dwelling on them.

Well, she knew it now. The moment when the Chantry was their last safe harbor in Haven, when Cullen had readied himself to lead their people out to safety and she had prepared to go and meet Corypheus and his dragon, when she had known she was most probably going to die without seeing him again—that was it. Watching him turn and leave, as she knew he must, knowing she was not going to get to say good-bye—knowing, further, that since there was a good chance neither of them would survive there was little point in bringing up hopes that could never come to fruition— There was no longer any doubt in her heart. Cullen had become dearer to her than any man she had ever known.

But the Inquisition wasn't ready for her to take her focus off it, not yet. So she had kept her conversations with Cullen as superficial as she could, just to avoid saying all the things that she wished she could have said to him in the Chantry. For that matter, Antonia wasn't entirely convinced that Cullen shared her feelings. She thought so, but it was hard to be certain. He was so driven, so ... obsessed with rebuilding Skyhold, that there was little energy left in him for anything else.

He was down in the lower courtyard right now, bent over plans for building fortifications. Watching him, screened by a giant bush, Antonia was struck by how much she had missed him. Avoiding him had been the wisest course, but it had cost her, as well. She missed his warm support and their conversations on training tactics and fortifications, which often branched out into history and mathematics and various sciences. Cullen wasn't quite as well-read as she was—which wasn't surprising, since he hadn't spent his childhood alone in a library—but he picked things up quickly and read very fast. Often they'd discuss a book he hadn't read and a couple of days later he'd have finished it.

Without entirely meaning to, Antonia found herself moving carefully down the mossy stairs toward him. She decided to go with it, as Cullen was surrounded by several of his men, giving orders at a rapid clip. With so many people around, the chances of her saying more than she meant to were limited.

But as Antonia approached somehow they all dispersed, leaving her functionally alone with Cullen. He was bent over the blueprints in front of him, looking up only as she came to stand next to him. Gesturing to the blueprints, he said, "We set up as best we could in Haven, but we could never prepare for an Archdemon—or whatever that was." He rubbed the back of his neck, closing his eyes. Exhaustion was written in every line of his face. "Here, perhaps we could do better. Even in Haven, given some warning, we might have—"

Concerned by the feverish light in his eyes, Antonia interrupted him to ask, "Do you ever sleep? Or eat?" She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him at one of the communal meals.

Cullen straightened, frowning down at her. "If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw—and I wouldn't want to. Which means strengthening Skyhold's defenses to the fullest extent possible." His jaw tightened. "We will not run from here, Inquisitor."

"Do we have a full count of how many were lost yet?" Antonia asked.

"Most of our people made it to Skyhold. It could have been worse. Morale was low, but has improved greatly since you accepted the title of Inquisitor."

For the life of her, Antonia couldn't understand what the people saw in her. She'd heard the rumors that she had died at Haven and come to life again, or that Andraste herself had protected her; but she knew the truth, that sheer luck had blown her into a cavity that was largely protected from the avalanche, and even better luck had seen to it that the last of the avalanche uncovered the cavity so she could get out. It was better luck still that anyone had been looking for her.

No, she thought, looking up at him, that wasn't luck—that was Cullen. He had led the rescue party himself, and it had been his dear face that had been the last thing she saw before losing consciousness from the cold and shock.

"Inquisitor?" he asked, prodding her to speak.

She gave a self-deprecating smile. "Inquisitor Trevelyan. I wasn't really looking for another title. It sounds odd, doesn't it?"

Cullen shook his head. "Not at all."

Raising her eyebrows, Antonia asked, "Is that the official response?"

She was relieved to hear him laugh. It had been a long time. "I suppose it is," he said. "But it is the truth. We needed a leader, and you have proven yourself."

"Thank you, Cullen." He smiled; the support she had come to rely on was in his face, and the rush of relief she felt seeing the haunted, driven look he'd been wearing recede was so strong she found herself speaking before she thought. "Our escape from Haven was close. I am relieved that you—" She caught herself. "That so many made it out."

"As am I," Cullen said softly. Their eyes caught and held. Antonia could hardly breathe.

Then Cullen looked down, and the moment was gone. Disappointed, but whether in him or herself or the whole sorry situation she didn't know, Antonia turned to go, but was stopped by his voice behind her.

He spoke softly, but there was emotion behind each word-determination, guilt, and something more. "You stayed behind. You could have—" He swallowed hard, and his face set again into those hard, determined lines she had come to know since they had arrived in Skyhold. "I will not allow the events of Haven to happen again. You have my word."

Cullen turned back to his blueprints, and Antonia walked off in a daze. Was that why he was pushing himself, and his men, at such a punishing pace? Did he blame himself because she had gone out to meet Corypheus on her own?

Her heart went out to him—after all, she'd spent more than a few sleepless nights blaming herself for the way the attack on Haven had gone. The best thing, she decided, was to let things get settled here, let him work out his demons on the walls of Skyhold.

And then? Then she would see.


	6. Filled with Earnestness

_Happy New Year! Very glad to be sharing this story with all of you - thank you for reading!_

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><p><em>28 August, 9:41<em>

Leaning back in her chair, Antonia sighed. One last letter for the day, and she couldn't seem to get it finished.

"Are you finally done with those tiresome papers, my dear?" Dorian asked, looking up from his book. He was stretched out on the settee in her quarters, perusing a volume of early Fereldan poetry, alternately wincing and laughing. "I thought we were going to play chess."

"We are, just as soon as I finish writing this letter. Some Nevarran noble has offered to give us a lot of money if he gets a personal blessing in writing from the Inquisitor."

"No doubt he'll keep it in his boudoir, to look at as he goes to bed at night." He winked at her over the top of his book, leaving no doubt as to what he thought the noble would be doing at the time.

"Don't be filthy."

"You're no fun."

"You have a strange definition of fun, my friend."

"Someone around here has to." Dorian put the book down on his chest and grinned at her. "Skyhold is lovely, but everyone's so serious."

"You think that has something to do with the thousand-year-old darkspawn and the dragon?" Antonia picked up her pen again, determined to finish this ridiculous blessing. "They did destroy Haven."

"Ah, but no. _You_ destroyed Haven; Corypheus and his dragon were merely the reason."

"Don't remind me." She shivered. Sometimes she dreamed she was still there, either facing the dragon and Corypheus knowing she was going to die, or trapped in the air pocket under the snow, unable to get out. "There should have been another way."

Dorian swung his legs over the side of the settee, sitting up and looking at her intently. "Everyone was already out; there was nothing left there but empty buildings."

"I suppose."

"You're as much a perfectionist as the Commander. If things don't go exactly right—"

"Dorian, people died!"

"This is war, Antonia; that's what happens in war."

"I know." She tossed aside the pen, heedless of the ink spatters on the paper. She wasn't going to finish that letter today anyway. Getting up from behind the desk, she walked to the open doors leading on to her balcony and looked out into the mountains in the direction of Haven. "No, that's wrong. I didn't know. I'd never been in combat before, not like that. I'd fought, but mostly me against someone else. To be in Haven and watch those men fall on my behalf—" She looked down at the mark on her hand, then closed the hand into a fist so she wouldn't have to see it any longer. "I wasn't prepared for it."

"You did it superbly." Dorian came up behind her. "You put yourself in front; you stood between all of us and the danger. I was there in the Chantry—there was no hesitation in you. I followed you to face Corypheus and his dragon; I didn't do that out of any death wish of my own, I can assure you." He chuckled. "I quite like living."

"Then why did you?"

"Because you were doing the right thing, and you made me want to as well."

Antonia turned to look at him. "You're very serious today."

"It's the air. It's filled with earnestness."

"Is it? That explains a few things." She wandered out onto the balcony, looking over the muddy courtyards of Skyhold. People were busy down there, building and cleaning and digging, and here she was and she couldn't write one ridiculous letter.

"You see? You just felt it, right there."

"It's hard not to."

She caught sight of a familiar blond head moving in the lower courtyard. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend she could even hear his voice.

"He does set a rather high standard, doesn't he?" Dorian said softly.

"Maybe too high." Antonia turned away.

"Still haven't worked up the courage to tell him?"

She shook her head, going back inside her quarters.

"Why ever not?"

Antonia groaned, sinking down on the end of her bed. "Dorian, this whole Inquisition thing—I don't know what I'm doing, and they made me Inquisitor and—he stood behind me, the way he always has ... What if I tell him how I feel and he thinks it's wildly inappropriate of me to be thinking of such things at such a time?"

"My dear, if you could see the way he looks at you when you're not looking at him, you would know better." Dorian leaned against the doorframe, his mustache twitching as he smiled. "It's really quite adorable."

"Adorable? Dorian, I think you're the only person in Skyhold, possibly in Thedas, who would refer to the Inquisitor and the Commander of the Inquisition as adorable."

"Which is why you love me."

"It is." They smiled at one another. Being sent forward in time together had created a bond between them; they were the only two people in Skyhold who knew firsthand the future they were trying to save the world from. Beneath his innate flippancy, Dorian was as committed to the cause as any of them. "You know, if you have time to watch Cullen watching me, as you say he does—"

Dorian snorted at the qualification.

"Then maybe we need to find someone for you," Antonia continued, ignoring him. "Now, let's see." She drew her knees up to her chest and looked at him thoughtfully.

Rolling his eyes, Dorian said, "This should be good."

Briefly she considered Varric, but they were really too similar, and she wasn't sure if men were Varric's thing. Or if Varric even had a thing. If not Varric, then— "A-ha! I have it. He's perfect for you."

Dorian looked at her skeptically.

"Krem! He's Tevinter, like you, so you'd have things to talk about, and he has a lot of fascinating stories about the Chargers. Also, he's very cute. If I was a man, I'd be highly tempted."

"Please. Don't be ridiculous," Dorian said. "If you were a man, you'd still be drooling over that attractive Commander of yours, only with less favorable prospects." He gave an exaggeratedly wistful sigh. "And I think it's quite possible you would have better luck with Krem than I would. For that matter, aren't Krem and the Iron Bull a thing?"

"I think only sometimes; it's not clear. But the more the merrier, right?" She winked at him. "Didn't the Iron Bull offer to buy you dinner if you'd let him chain you up like a Qunari mage?"

Dorian choked. "That's not quite how it went."

"Which conversation are you remembering?"

"He wasn't serious! And neither was I!" Dorian protested. Antonia raised her eyebrows at him, and he groaned. "You're terrible. I wouldn't have thought it was possible, but I believe you may have spent too much time with me."

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><p><em>AN: If you're a Dorian fan, you should head over to JayRain's profile and check out her story "The Magician". JayRain, I hope my Dorian measures up!  
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	7. Maker Go with You

_Many thanks to all of you for reading, for reviewing, and for setting the story on Alerts and Favorites!_

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><p><em>31 August, 9:41<em>

It was dark in Cullen's office at this hour of the morning, the candles guttering on his desk the sign of his long night of work. It had been a better night than usual—he had spent a good four hours in the bed in the loft above him, much of that in actual sleep. Now that the fever had broken, he felt a little better, but there was still much work to be done, and that kept him awake as much as the nightmares did.

Cullen studiously kept his eyes off the box on the highest shelf of the bookcase. It could provide him a night's sleep, but at a cost he wasn't willing to pay. He kept it there to remind himself every day of the choice he had made to put all that behind him.

In some ways, his insomnia made things easier, because the only time his office wasn't filled with a constant stream of demands on his time and attention was the middle of the night. If he slept like normal people, he'd never get anything done.

He was pleased with tonight's work; he had a stack of dispatches to send once his messengers got up, and had earned a few moments with a book. Cullen ran his fingers along the spines of the volumes on one overstuffed shelf. After a lifetime of not owning anything, his first goal had been to surround himself with as many books as he could. Of course, other than a small stack of beloved volumes up in the loft, these all truly belonged to the Inquisition, purchased with Inquisition funds. But he had chosen them, and in every way that mattered they were his, at least, as long as he could hold fast against the lyrium.

He chose a book and sat down with it, but it was hard to focus on the words. He was just at the wrong level of tiredness—tired enough not to be able to be productive but also tired enough that his resistance was low, which meant the whispers of old fears and remembered demons in his ears … and not yet so tired that he could sleep.

To avoid looking at the box again, Cullen looked at the clock. It was getting on toward that time. He put the book away, then turned from the shelves and went out the door onto the battlements. The sky above the mountains was just turning grey. He could see the change, but down below in the courtyard they wouldn't see it for another few minutes. Just one of the many reasons he liked being so far up—he greeted each sunrise with glad relief, symbolizing as it did another night's victory against the lyrium, and another day that he could continue commanding the forces of the Inquisition.

If Cassandra ever told him he must step down, he would go without protest; he had promised himself that much dignity. But it would break his heart. He had never felt this drive to succeed before, never had a task before him that demanded so many of his talents, or forced him to learn so much. And he loved every day of it. His soldiers had come together at Haven and fought with everything they had, obeying his orders without question. They had come far enough from that day that he could evaluate what had happened without that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that the whole debacle was his fault, but the failure there still left him with something to prove—to himself, if to no one else. And to the men he led, that next time they would prevail.

Thinking of Haven reminded him of the woman they had come so close to losing there, and he moved to the edge of the battlement to look down into the courtyard. As he had expected, Antonia was there, preparing for the expedition to Emprise-du-Lion she was leading out. He tried to think of her as "Inquisitor", as he was so scrupulously careful to call her, but somehow he couldn't. Thinking of her as "Antonia" in the privacy of his thoughts was the one liberty he allowed himself.

Far below, Varric was with her, as he so often was, whispering something to her that made her laugh.

Cullen couldn't really hear her laugh from up here, but he could imagine it, and it made him smile in response. She had no way of knowing what her sense of humor did for them all, but he could see it. His role was to be disciplined, Leliana's to be secretive, Josephine's to be dignified. Antonia bridged the gap between the three of them and the rest of the Inquisition. Just as in Haven, she spent her time when in residence at Skyhold visiting as many people as she could, listening to their needs, and she got things done. They all missed her when she was away from the keep.

But none as much as he did, or so he imagined. Sometimes it felt as though she took all the color with her when she left, and only when she returned was everything crisp and sharp and bright again.

It was foolish to feel this way about her; he told himself that every day. She was the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, and such a beautiful woman, with her expressive eyes and her delicate face and her slender frame. Cullen always found it surprising to watch her hefting a greataxe, because she didn't look strong enough for such a weapon. But he'd seen her use the pommel to lay the Iron Bull flat on his back with a single blow, so he knew how deceptive her air of fragility really was. Added to that her intelligence and her easy humor and warmth, and there wasn't a man in Thedas she couldn't have at a crook of her finger. The idea that she might turn those beautiful eyes on a damaged ex-Templar ten years her senior was too incredible for Cullen to imagine it possible, despite the occasional meeting of glances that sped up his pulse and cut off his breathing and left him thinking things he shouldn't.

Down below they had finished loading the horses. Vivienne and Antonia were astride their mounts, and Cassandra was halfway through the gates on hers, impatient to be going as she always was. Varric was fussing over stowing his beloved crossbow, and the other three started off without him. At last the dwarf was satisfied. Before turning his horse in the direction of the gates, he looked up at where Cullen stood and waved, and Cullen stepped hastily back. That dwarf seemed to know everything that went on in Skyhold, and the last thing Cullen needed was to have his hopeless ... attraction to the Inquisitor bandied about.

Crossing to the other side of the battlements, he watched them until the last horse had disappeared down the mountain road. "Maker go with you," he said softly, then turned back to his office. The sun had reached it, but it seemed suddenly very dim.

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><p><em>AN: First - you'll notice I've added dates to the beginning of each chapter, so you - and I! - can keep track of the timeline. I use the Fereldan calendar located at swooping-is-bad. livejournal 663380. html (minus the spaces, naturally), but I think you can also find it on the Wiki. _

_Second - I think you should know that for many reasons, some personal, I have not made any attempt to make Cullen's reaction to the lack of lyrium bear a resemblance to withdrawal from addiction in the real world. Hopefully that won't bother anyone too much. _


	8. A Fortunate Day for the Inquisition

_Bonus chapter today because I finally finished my first of what will no doubt be many playthroughs of the game last night! Many thanks to all of you for reading and particularly for the response to the last chapter - I admit I was nervous about it._

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><p><em>8 Kingsway, 9:41<em>

Antonia knocked at the door of Cullen's office.

"Yes, what is it?" came the impatient response from inside.

She poked her head in the door. "Rough day?"

"Oh, Inquisitor, it's you. I'm sorry." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It seems as though everyone and their brother has been through here today."

"And now I'm bothering you. I could go away, if you're too busy."

"No! I mean, no, it's fine. What can I do for you?"

"Well, in truth, nothing," Antonia said, rather guiltily. "I was really just looking for a quiet place to get away from it all."

"And you came here, of all places?" He raised an eyebrow. "Are your quarters not to your liking?"

From the look on his face, Antonia suspected he'd had a hand in the design of her living space, which had been largely finished in her absence at Emprise-du-Lion. She hastened to reassure him. "No, no, they're lovely. But—" _But you're not in them_, was what she wanted to say. She wasn't ready to take things there, though, not yet. Cullen was so focused on following the tracks of Samson, Corypheus's general—she could tell he felt responsible for the man's crimes, since Samson, however briefly, had once been Cullen's fellow Templar; they had shared quarters together in Kirkwall. She wanted to get that situation resolved, at least somewhat, before she made any overtures of a personal nature. Instead, she settled for, "But they're on the other side of Skyhold; do you have any idea how many people there are between here and my quarters?"

Cullen laughed. "As many as have been in and out of this office this morning, no doubt." He gestured to the chair across from his desk. "Have a seat. I could bar the doors, if you like, to ensure no one else comes in."

"Please." It came out far more flirtatiously than she had intended, and Cullen's ears turned red.

"Um. Right. Well …" He cleared his throat. "It has occurred to me more than once today that having three doors into my office is possibly three too many."

"Then there would be no doors at all. How would I be able to come in and bother you?"

"That's a ... good point." His voice had taken on that soft, wondering tone that made Antonia's heart pound in her chest. Their eyes met and held. But Cullen blinked and looked away, and the moment passed. In a different voice, he asked, "So how was your trip to Emprise-du-Lion?"

"Cold." She shivered.

"Really."

"Yes, apparently they were hit with a very rapid deep freeze—something the Red Templars did, most believe."

"And you found more red lyrium?"

"Quite a bit. We destroyed as much of it as we could. Varric took a lot of pleasure in that."

"He would. Do you know about his brother?"

Antonia nodded. "The story was in his book about the Champion. Is it true?"

"Yes. They found a red lyrium idol in the Deep Roads, and it drove Varric's brother mad. And Knight-Commander Meredith." Cullen's eyes were on the wall behind her, but she could tell that he was seeing horrors. "She's now a red lyrium statue."

"Terrible." She waited until Cullen had come back from wherever the story had taken him—Kirkwall, she imagined—to ask, "Did you ever meet Varric's brother?"

"No. I knew Hawke and the rest of her people, but I was an active Templar at the time, with limited freedom." He looked around his office in evident satisfaction at the change in his fortunes. "By the time I was promoted to Knight-Captain and thus able to get out and about the city a bit more, Bartrand had left Kirkwall." In a different tone, signaling a change in topic, he said, "So, tell me, did anything interesting happen while you were in Emprise?"

Antonia laughed a little. "There was the bear."

"What about it? Bears aren't usually so amusing."

"It kept following us. Even as we were heading down into the quarry, it was following us, climbing on the equipment and running into people. I told everyone that as long as it wasn't attacking us, to leave it alone—I thought if it was coming to the quarry with us, perhaps I could get it to fight the Red Templars and save us some work."

Cullen raised an eyebrow, smiling a little. "I take it that hope failed to come to fruition?"

"Yes. Just as we reached the Red Templars, Vivienne apparently thought it would be a good idea to shoot the bear with lightning, in order to make it angry, so it would attack the Red Templars. Instead …"

"It attacked you, and you were fighting a battle on two fronts." The smile had faded from Cullen's face, and he was looking at her with concern.

"Something like that." Antonia nodded. "It was close there for a bit … but I can't help thinking of that great bear stumbling around the quarry. Quite entertaining, really."

"Entertaining." Cullen shook his head. "We tend to forget, I think, sitting here at our comfortable desks, what you're facing out in the field. I'm sorry that the brunt of all this falls on your shoulders."

"Really, Cullen, it's all right. My companions are very reliable—most of the time—and I think it's important that the people see that the Inquisitor herself is out there working toward a better future for all of us. I think I closed most of the rifts in the area." She looked down at her left hand, the mark pulsing faintly.

"Does that hurt?" Cullen asked.

"Only sometimes. It feels better after I close a rift, but burns before." Antonia closed her fist. She wanted to tell him how much she hated having it there, how it disturbed her to see a part of her body glowing such an unnatural color, how she worried about whether it would ever come off ... but probably those were unworthy emotions for an Inquisitor, and she very much didn't want Cullen to think she was trying to shirk her responsibilities, or worse, whine about them.

He was watching her sympathetically, but she couldn't tell what he was thinking.

Antonia mustered a smile. "Still, all things considered, we got some things done in Emprise and the Inquisition is in better standing there. Except with people who like bears."

Cullen didn't return the smile, but at least his frown went away. "All I can say is, it was a fortunate day for the Inquisition when you fell out of the sky."

Antonia stood up. "You know, it's taken a while, but there are days when I almost believe that. Thank you for letting me distract you for a while, Commander."

"Anytime, Inquisitor."


	9. A Deeply Honorable Man

_Friday again! I hope you all had a good week. Thanks for reading!_

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><p><em>12 Kingsway, 9:41<em>

After breakfast one morning, Cullen approached Antonia as she was about to head for the training ground. "Can I speak with you later? It's … important." He looked as nervous as she had ever seen him.

For a moment, her heart leaped in her chest, until over Cullen's shoulder she happened to catch Cassandra watching them with a concerned expression on her face. If Cassandra was concerned, and openly showing it, this conversation wasn't likely to be one Antonia would be happy about. Of course, she thought, Cassandra could be jealous—it was always possible Cassandra was attracted to Cullen. But Antonia had seen no sign of that.

"Of course," she said to Cullen. He did not look noticeably relieved by her assent, which only confirmed her suspicions that she wasn't going to like whatever he had to say.

Varric caught up to her as she left the dining hall. "You going to tell Commander Loverboy how you feel, finally?"

"I thought I asked you to stop calling him that," she hissed, looking around to be sure no one had overheard.

"That's right, you did." Varric's cheeky grin said he had taken that as a suggestion, rather than as the command it had been meant to be.

"And no. Whatever it is he wants to talk about, it looks like it would be a bad time to broach the topic."

"Really?" He raised his eyebrows. Then he said, "Oh. Huh."

"What?"

"It's just … I have an inkling what there might be for the two of you to talk about. And if I'm right, Herald—go easy on him."

"When have I ever been hard on any of you?"

"Well, never so far, but you never can tell when someone's going to say the wrong thing and that scary equanimity of yours will snap."

Antonia frowned at him. "I have 'scary equanimity'?"

"Damn right you do. You never get mad—except in combat, but everyone does that. Why don't you ever get mad? Even Hawke got mad. Usually at Fenris; or her mother."

"Look who's talking. I've never seen you angry, either, even when Cassandra was beating you up for hiding Hawke from her."

"Point taken, Herald. Or should I call you Inquisitor? Always so hard to give up on a good nickname."

"I don't suppose I could prevail on you to call me Antonia. It does get tiresome not being called by my own name."

"Not my style."

"Well, I suppose if I have to have a nickname, I'd rather be Herald than Chuckles. Or Sparkler. Not that Dorian minds that one; I think he rather likes it."

Varric chuckled. "He likes everything, which is part of his charm." He paused near the table, cozily placed in front of the fire, where he kept his writing things. "This is where I leave you. Don't you have an appointment higher up?"

"Later, he said. And strangely, I don't find myself in a hurry." Antonia glanced apprehensively in the direction of Cullen's office.

"Don't make him wait too long."

With the dwarf's advice ringing in her ears, Antonia set out across the courtyard. She spoke to the merchants for a bit, long enough to watch Cullen mounting the stone stairs to his office. His steps were slow, a far cry from his usual brisk pace. She decided Varric was right—whatever it was, it was best to get it over with quickly.

Cullen looked up as she came in. There was a small wooden box open in the middle of his desk, but Antonia couldn't see at first what was in it.

"As leader of the Inquisition, you …" He sighed. "There is something I must tell you."

"Whatever it is, I'm willing to listen."

"Right. Thank you." He inclined his head a little, then looked down at the box again. Antonia followed his gaze. To her surprise, it contained a syringe and some vials of a blue liquid. She looked at him questioningly, and Cullen nodded. "Lyrium gives us our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those cut off suffer—some go mad, others die."

So this was what he had wanted to talk to her about. No wonder he had had to nerve himself up for the discussion.

"We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the Inquisition's Templars, but I … no longer take it."

"You stopped?" she asked, greatly surprised.

"When I joined the Inquisition." He stared at the box, one hand rising toward it just slightly before falling back to the desk. "It's been months now."

"Cullen, if this can kill you …" Antonia stopped. She didn't know what he must be going through, what he had been going through all this time; ever since she'd known him. Her respect for him increased, knowing that he had accomplished everything that he had—been the rock the Inquisition was built upon, in many ways—while battling the effects of lyrium withdrawal. But they couldn't afford to lose him, either ... neither the Inquisition nor Antonia herself.

"It hasn't yet." There were lines of suffering in his face that hadn't been there before—or perhaps Antonia had never before seen them for what they were. "After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn't … But I will not be bound to the Order—or that life—any longer." He looked her in the eye. "Whatever the suffering, I accept it. That is my choice. But I assure you, I will not put the Inquisition at risk. I have asked Cassandra to … watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be removed from duty."

Of course he had. Because he was a deeply honorable man, and would sacrifice his own well-being for that of the Inquisition. "Are you in pain?"

"I can endure it. I have done so thus far." Cullen held her gaze steadily, but there was uncertainty there, too. He didn't know how she was going to take this; he was waiting for her response. It was quite possible that he was afraid of what her reaction would be.

"Thank you for telling me, Cullen. I respect your decision." He had done the right thing, unquestionably, as he had done in every other decision that had been entrusted to him.

The relief in him was palpable; he let his breath out as though he had been holding it, and closed his eyes briefly. "Thank you, Inquisitor. The Inquisition's army must always take priority. … I will defer to Cassandra's judgment."

"Of course." There were so many questions Antonia wanted to ask—how long he felt he needed to be under scrutiny, what the effects were of the lyrium withdrawal, how he had managed so well for so long—but she didn't want to pry. Contemplating the Inquisition without him in command of the armies ... it was a bleak future. She needed him to know how important he was to their success. "Cullen?"

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her comment.

"As you know, your value to—to the Inquisition is unquestionable. You could not easily be replaced … if at all. I say this not to add further pressure. I absolutely know what a personal sacrifice it would be for you if you had to step down from your position. But if at any point there is something you need, you have the Inquisition's full support, and … mine personally, no questions asked."

Cullen cleared his throat. "Thank you. It means a great deal."

"You're worth it—and much, much more." Her voice nearly broke on the last two words, and she hurried from the room to keep from saying anything else.

The first thing Antonia did was search for Cassandra. She found the Seeker in a very odd position—huddled on a stump in a remote corner of Skyhold, reading a book. Antonia drew closer as softly as she could, curious as to what kind of a book it could be that had Cassandra so engrossed. She leaned over Cassandra's shoulder, but couldn't see the title.

"Good book?" she asked.

Cassandra jumped up, hiding the book behind her back. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really? Then what's that behind your back?"

"Oh. Just … reports? Yes. Reports."

Antonia grinned. "You're an excellent liar."

Cassandra looked down, abashed. "It's of no interest to you, I'm certain."

Raising her eyebrows, Antonia waited.

"Fine. It's a book."

"Right. But which book?"

Cassandra stared at her boots. "It's … one of Varric's tales. _Swords & Shields_. The latest chapter."

You could have knocked Antonia over with a feather. Of all the things she might have expected to find Cassandra doing, reading one of Varric's books … wouldn't have made the list. Or the vicinity of the list. "The latest chapter? You mean, you've read them all?"

"Well … I've fallen a bit behind since this all began. We've been so busy." She crossed her arms, looking defiant. "It's literature. Smutty … literature. And whatever you do, don't tell Varric."

"Me?" Antonia widened her eyes with her best innocent look. "No! I would never."

"I know, they're terrible, but they're … _magnificent_. And this one ends in a cliffhanger! I know Varric is working on the next one; he must be." She looked at Antonia with excitement. "You! You could ask him to finish it—no, command him to … No." Tucking the book under her arm, she turned away in embarrassment. "Pretend you don't know this about me."

"I'll try, but I don't know if I can manage it. Say, you wouldn't happen to know anything about the 48 copies of _Hard in Hightown_ the librarian says have gone missing?"

"What would I do with 48 copies?"

"I don't think I want to know."

Cassandra glared at her, and Antonia laughed.

"Did you want something, Inquisitor?"

The question recalled Antonia to the reason she was here, and she no longer felt like laughing. "I've just been to speak to Cullen."

"Ah."

"How long have you known?"

"Since the beginning. When he agreed to join the Inquisition, he told me he intended to stop taking the lyrium, and I promised to support him, and to keep a close eye on him in case he started showing signs that the withdrawal was too severe for him to continue in his position."

"I've seen nothing that would even hint at what he's been going through. Has he—allowed you to help him?" Antonia asked.

"Not really. He says he has it under control, and I agree, there have been no indications that he cannot handle it. Why do you ask?"

"I just—hate to think of him going through this alone." To her dismay, Antonia's voice broke again.

"Oh, so it's that way, is it?" There was kindness in Cassandra's tone. "I wondered."

"Is it that obvious?"

"No. Well … perhaps." Cassandra looked at her intently. "Have you said anything to Cullen about how you feel?"

Antonia shook her head. "It's never seemed to be the right time."

"Good. I think … the two of you would be good for one another, but … not until he has passed through this trial."

"No, I agree with you. Thank you, Cassandra."

"Of course. It's the least I can do for the Inquisition, and Cullen has richly deserved whatever support we can give him."

"And … you'll let me know, if—if there's anything I need to know?"

"Why do you think he told you now? He was ashamed to have you know, afraid you would—remove him from his position, for his own good if not for that of the Inquisition. I told him if he didn't tell you, I would."

"Thank you for trusting me to do the right thing."

"You, too, have richly deserved it, Inquisitor."


	10. Bring It On, Commander

_Many thanks to all of you reading along! Special thanks this chapter to JayRain and to Hahren Jezek for their help with the sparring details - they made it much better._

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><p><em>18 Kingsway, 9:41<em>

"One more time," Cullen called. Antonia glared at him, but she readied her sword again as two of his men closed in on her, one on each side. If she turned toward either one, she exposed herself to the attack of the other. It was a weakness of the two-handed weapon, which is why he focused on it so much in her training.

She looked from side to side, tossing her head to flick her hair out of her eyes. It needed cutting again, he thought, if she had to do that. Then, so quickly they didn't have time to react, she whirled around, the practice blade outstretched as she turned, scoring both men across the chest. Immediately she jumped back and reset herself.

"All right, you're both dead. But Inquisitor, that move only works if you can maintain your footing and your speed. If you had slipped, you'd have opened yourself up with no defenses."

"You think?" She raked a glove through her brown hair to push it back.

"Let's try that, then. Same setup as last time, but slip halfway, see how you can recover."

"You want me to slip on purpose?"

Cullen shrugged. "Would you rather slip by accident and not have prepared?"

"Do you enjoy being right all the time?" she grumbled.

He laughed. "I suppose I find it more pleasant than the alternative."

"Fine. Let's do this." She and the men reset. This time, halfway through the whirl a patch of ice appeared under her boots, and she slipped and fell, landing hard on her bottom. She kept hold of the sword, and as the two soldiers closed in, she lifted it above her head and with a quick jerking side-to-side movement managed to hit one with the blade end and the other with the pommel. As they fell backward, she scrambled to her feet, glaring at the mage who had appeared next to Cullen. "That was a dirty trick, Dorian."

He shrugged, looking innocent. "Didn't the Commander want to see what you actually do in combat? Although in truth, what you actually do is more point sharp things at whatever I've already set on fire." Dorian gave an exaggerated sigh. "I give so much, and am appreciated so little."

"I'm lucky if you bother to set things on fire; you and Varric seem to spend half your time chatting while the Iron Bull and I take all the hits." Antonia put her hand on her hip and glared at the mage, but she couldn't hold the expression, and they both laughed.

"An excellent point," Dorian conceded. He looked at Cullen. "Satisfied, Commander?"

Cullen crossed his arms, studying the field. The ice had melted, leaving a muddy patch. "I think if they hadn't both closed in together, perhaps ..."

The soldiers groaned, and Antonia rolled her eyes.

"You know, Commander," Dorian said, "since you have so many good ideas, I think maybe you should show them how it's done."

The men cheered. Antonia's eyebrows flew up, and she cast an odd look at the mage, who returned it rather smugly, Cullen thought. They appeared to have an entire language that didn't require words, and Cullen felt an irrational stab of jealousy.

He had to admit he was exhilarated by the challenge. She was a fine fighter, and it had been some time since they'd sparred together. He did try to avoid getting in the ring too often, but the occasional bout kept him in practice and reminded the men that he knew what he was talking about. "What do you say, Inquisitor?"

She picked up the sword. "Bring it on, Commander."

The soldiers escaped the ring gratefully as Cullen prepared himself. At last he was set, facing her, the patch of mud between them. "Are you ready?"

"Are you? I knock down men twice your size for breakfast."

"Really? Let's just see about that, shall we?" Cullen pulled his thoughts away from the sparkle in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks, and the undeniable fact that instead of fighting her, he very much wanted to kiss her, and prepared himself just in time to spin out of the way of her onrush. He clipped her with his shield as he went, and she winced. "I'm sorry, is it breakfast time already?" he said, grinning.

"It just might be." She thrust with the practice sword, but as he was moving out of the way, she turned her wrist. "If this was my greataxe, that would be the edge of the blade in your elbow, Commander. Where the armor is weakest. And from there, a quick move buries the other edge in your side."

He narrowed his eyes, judging the distance. "Possibly. Or perhaps it barely misses the elbow and I bash you with my shield."

"Splitting hairs, aren't you, Commander?"

"Just trying to keep you honest."

"All right, then, let's try again."

The teasing was gone from her eyes now; he had seen that look before in her sparring, and he knew it meant she had decided to win. It was no longer a training session, and Cullen would have to be on his toes.

He sidestepped her first attack, and she danced back from his. The same went for the second and the third on both sides. Cullen's longer legs and less unwieldy blade gave him a small advantage, but her agility and greater endurance countered those neatly.

As the bout went on, he was aware of people surrounding the ring; a match between the Inquisitor and the Commander was something to see, and they were giving a good show. And then it happened, as he had predicted earlier—her hair got in her eyes, and she slipped in the patch of mud.

A groan went up from the spectators, and Cullen could see money changing hands all around the ring.

Antonia was frowning; he knew her well enough to know that she was disappointed in herself for the loss. Confident and skilled, she retained the upper hand in most training sessions, and she didn't like to be overmatched.

But the frown passed, and she looked up at him ruefully. "Taken down by my own hair," she said. "I'm having it cut this afternoon."

He reached down a hand to help her up. "I would. I'd hate to see that happen in a real battle."

"Yes. Me, too."

Cullen saluted her with an arm over his chest. "Well fought, Inquisitor. We might just get you through this yet."

"Thank you, Commander." She looked up at him, her bright eyes catching and holding his in one of those moments that made the rest of the world stop moving. Those seemed to be happening more and more often, making him hope in spite of himself. In spite of his sure knowledge that such a thing was just not possible, when her eyes went all soft and wide and just a little bit hazy, as they were now, and her lips parted as though she were just waiting for his kiss, it was hard not to think that just maybe ...

He caught the thought before he could embarrass himself.

"Right. Well, I should get back to work." With a last nod of the head, he hurried from the field.


	11. Further Specialization

_Good news, readers - for me, at least, and I hope for you: I've finished the story (at least, it's written through the end of the game events)! I've never had such a long story completed so far ahead before. And since it is a long one, I'm going to start posting two chapters a week, so look for it on Tuesdays and Fridays going forward. Thanks so much for reading! I hope those of you on the East Coast of the US are inside and warm right now._

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><p><em>1 Harvestmere, 9:41<em>

"Next item," Leliana said. "I have brought in three trainers in very specialized forms of combat. I believe, Inquisitor, that while you are skilled in the use of your greataxe, it would increase both your power and your mystique if you were trained in something more … exotic."

Antonia raised her eyebrows. "Exotic? What is that supposed to mean?"

"It would be a diplomatic boon, as well. Each specialist has a certain network that we could use if you chose them as your trainer, and I believe it would increase the Inquisitor's cachet among the nobility." Josephine nodded. "Yes, definitely so."

"Cullen?" Antonia looked at her military adviser, who did not appear at all pleased with the suggestion.

"I believe further specialization would be a waste of your time, Inquisitor. You are more than proficient with your current fighting style, and I would not want you distracted from the tasks at hand. Of which there are many, as I'm sure I need not remind anyone in this room."

Antonia looked between the three of them. "Leliana, you say they're already here?"

"Yes, Inquisitor."

"Then I will speak with the three trainers and see what they have to say. Is there anything else?"

"No, I believe that was all for today."

The meeting broke up. Antonia looked to Cullen, wanting to walk out with him, but he hurried down the hall. She wished he'd waited; as her military advisor, and the person who had overseen most of her training since she joined the Inquisition, she thought he should have been the one to suggest any changes to her regimen, and was confused as to why Leliana would have chosen to move forward if Cullen so clearly disagreed with the idea. It would have been nice to have been able to talk with him about it before she met with the trainers.

Hours later, after talking with Leliana's specialists, Antonia found Cullen in the training circle. He was breathing hard and sweating; it looked like he'd been at it for some time.

"Can you take a break? I'd like to talk to you."

He finished the series of moves he was in the middle of and came over to where she was standing, mopping off his face with a towel hanging on the rail.

"Good evening, Inquisitor. Did you find your 'exotic' trainers to your liking?" Even breathless, there was a bite in his tone that was rare for him.

"They were … interesting, I'll give them that."

"I was not aware you thought your current training regimen was lacking."

"I don't." Antonia looked up at him. His handsome face was very closed and just a little bit fierce right now—she could see why his men sometimes called him the Great Bear behind his back. "I have no complaints, or I would have told you so. I hope you've learned that about me by now. But what _I_'ve learned is that when Leliana and Josephine both want me to do something, it's in my best interests—and in those of the Inquisition—to at least investigate the possibility."

"I suppose that's fair," Cullen said, albeit grudgingly.

"Why did this come from Leliana and not from you?"

"Because, as Leliana and Josephine pointed out, this is as much about your image as it is about your prowess in combat. It is their job to make you look good to the rest of Thedas. It is mine to ensure that you come out of your combats in one piece, and I believe in training and preparation over the distraction of fancy tricks. We discussed it, the three of us, and I was overruled." He frowned at her. "Aren't you going to tell me what they had to say?"

"I wasn't sure you would want to know." She gave him a pointed look.

He unbent a bit at last. "All right, I suppose I deserved that. So?"

She really didn't want to get into the details with him, and in fact, intended to have a very firm talk with Leliana later over her decision-making. "One of them might be interesting."

Cullen's eyes narrowed as he studied her face. "What aren't you telling me? There's something."

"Well, one of them was a Champion trainer. Something about a battle standard, and what sounded like a lot of posturing. Mostly harmless, though, I think. And another was a Reaver trainer. She wanted me to drink dragon's blood." She shuddered. "No, thank you."

"And the third?" The dangerous edge to his tone said he had guessed.

"A … a Templar trainer."

"NO!" Cullen gripped the fence, his eyes blazing down at her. "No. Antoni—Inquisitor, you absolutely cannot consider such a course. I will not allow it!"

"Do you honestly think I would?" Antonia stepped closer to the fence, standing her ground against his anger, not even noticing his hastily corrected use of her name—for the first time—in her intensity. "Knowing what you've been through—are still going through?" She kept her voice low to avoid being overheard. "I sent him packing, and I intend to have words with Leliana later for allowing him to come here in the first place. And if you think I have that little respect for—your strength and your courage, then perhaps we don't—don't know each other as well as I thought we did." She couldn't quite keep her voice from quivering. It hurt to think that he believed she could even consider such a thing; it would have felt like a betrayal to have done so, and he ought to have known that. Antonia turned to go before she said anything more that she might regret.

"Wait, please."

There was a raw urgency in Cullen's tone that stopped her in her tracks, and she turned to look at him.

"You're right," he said. "I was too hasty—I just couldn't bear to see you go down that path. I have seen what it can do too many times. I should have known you were too intelligent to risk your health and your sanity that way. And … don't blame Leliana," Cullen added. "She—doesn't know."

"Surely she must! She was part of the Chantry, she must know where the Templars get their power."

"But she doesn't know that I've stopped taking the lyrium. I am afraid … I don't know if she would be supportive of the decision. There's no question that it's a risk, and possibly one the Inquisition can't afford."

"I see."

"So … I'll see you back here in the morning?" There was a hint of a plea in his voice now, and she understood that he was really asking if they were all right with each other.

"Of course—bright and early. Last one here does extra push-ups."

"You're on."


	12. The Most Intriguing Rumor

_Happy Friday! Thanks so much to all of you for reading and favoriting and setting to alerts and reviewing. This story was already a joy to write, and you all make it a joy to post._

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><p><em>12 Harvestmere, 9:41<em>

Cullen was having a hard time concentrating on his work. It was a lovely day, and he could feel the breeze blowing through the holes in the roof, far above his head. It was the kind of day that made him think of his childhood, really, and of running in the fields with his brother and sisters. It should have been one of the last good days of fall before winter set in, but there was no indication in Skyhold of winter's onset—the weather seemed to hover constantly in temperatures reminiscent of early spring, moderate but with a faint chill.

His half-finished note to his sister Mia was buried in a pile of papers somewhere on his desk. He should unearth it and just send it, unfinished as it was; it wasn't as though he was going to find time to write a longer letter anytime soon. He was riffling through the papers looking for it when his door opened, and Dorian came in.

"Commander?"

"What can I do for you, Dorian?"

"I heard the most intriguing rumor, and I came to see if it was true."

"I believe you're in the wrong place. If you're looking for gossip, you should go to the main hall and find Varric."

"You misunderstand me. I was speaking of the rumor that you are in possession of a decent chess game, something I've found dreadfully hard to come by."

Cullen put the papers down. "Chess? It's been some time since I've played—I'm not certain 'decent' would describe it any longer."

"I'm sure you're just being modest. What about it, Commander? Will you come and take pity on a very bored and frustrated man?"

"All right." The chess boards were in the gardens, which were flourishing. It sounded like just what Cullen had been looking for as a diversion, although it made him feel even more guilty about the letter to Mia. He remembered her insufferable looks when she used to win all the time, and the thought made him smile.

"You seem light-hearted today," Dorian remarked.

"It's a very nice day, isn't it? And the Inq—" He caught himself. There was a danger in revealing to Dorian, of all people, how having Antonia in residence at the keep altered his mood. The mage was her best friend, and if he suspected how Cullen felt, which he was quite perceptive enough to pick up on, he would certainly tell her. Which would be embarrassing, to put it mildly.

Not that Cullen hadn't given serious thought—more hours of it than he cared to admit, even to himself—to what he might say if she confronted him about it. There were even moments when he allowed himself to hope that she might entertain some feelings for him in return. Sometimes, the look in her eyes ... He closed his own eyes for a moment, entirely missing Dorian's amused glance in his direction.

"Yes, the scenery in Skyhold is quite beautiful," the mage said, grinning to himself.

Cullen cleared his throat, certain there was more to the comment than there seemed; with Dorian there usually was. He went back to their earlier subject. "So you've had trouble finding fellow chess players?"

"Oh, no trouble finding people to play, but there's no challenge. And there's no fun in winning if it's too easy." Dorian smiled. "Well, that's not entirely true—sometimes it's great fun, but not generally with games of skill."

"No, I see what you mean." He wasn't sure he did, entirely, but he'd found it was best to ignore Dorian's innuendoes.

They took their seat, setting up the board. Cullen had selected these sets himself, and they were good quality craftsmanship. He knew Josephine, and especially Leliana, found his enthusiasm for the details of life in Skyhold rather hard to understand, but he'd never had a chance to surround himself with things of any kind, much less the quality of items necessary to uphold the Inquisition's reputation. For that matter, he'd never been able to choose before—you wore the standard Templar-issue armor and the standard Templar-issue civilian clothes in your off hours, used the standard Templar-issue weaponry, slept in the standard Templar-issue beds. And so on. It had never occurred to him to be unhappy about it; the Templars were all he'd known since he was thirteen. But now that there were options, he'd found that making a choice between the griffon chess set and the rampant mabari had been surprisingly enjoyable.

And it didn't just make him happy. The deliberateness of his choices was reflected in how other people enjoyed the things he bought for Skyhold. While Cullen had always felt an urge to protect others, he hadn't realized until he joined the Inquisition how much he wanted to take care of others, as well. When his people were happy, he had done his job.

Dorian set up the board and made the first move. Cullen leaned forward, trying to remember the combinations of moves he had learned so painstakingly over the years and get back into the mindset of anticipating his opponent's upcoming plays. He looked up at Dorian, but the mage wore the same faintly amused expression he always did. No clues there.

"Stop stalling, Commander. Or are you experiencing performance anxiety?"

"May I remind you that you asked me," Cullen said. He picked up a piece and made his move.

Dorian nodded. "Creditable."

"I'm so glad you approve."

They played for a while in silence, both concentrating on the board. As his feel for the game came back, Cullen relaxed a bit, enjoying the challenge. Dorian was an extremely skilled opponent, but Cullen was very good as well, and Dorian clearly hadn't expected him to be quite as good as he was. Eventually, Cullen was certain he was going to take the game—but equally certain that the next time he played with the mage, the game would be much more difficult because Dorian would take him more seriously from the start. He looked forward to it already.

They were moving into the endgame when out of the corner of his eye he saw Antonia coming toward them. Automatically, he began to rise, the way his mother had taught him to do when a lady entered the room. He wondered if she'd be pleased to know her training had stuck with him this long.

He was very glad that he had almost won the game by the time Antonia arrived, because otherwise her presence might have been a distraction. Then again, the last thing he wanted to do was look foolish in front of her at a game of strategy—he commanded her forces, after all. He was supposed to be good at strategy.

And then he won, and Dorian left, and she stayed, and Cullen was very, very glad he'd left his office today.

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><p><em>AN: Never fear, the other half of this scene comes up on Tuesday! Have a lovely weekend, all!  
><em>


	13. This Particular Move

_Happy Tuesday, and happy February! Many thanks to all of you for reading!_

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><p><em>12 Harvestmere, 9:41<em>

Antonia stood up from behind her desk. She'd spent hours going over the papers on it, putting things in order, writing up reports from the last expedition, responding to correspondence, and it was only late morning, with another pile just waiting for her attention.

She stretched, feeling the cramped muscles in her back start to loosen. How did Josephine manage to do this all day, every day? It was no wonder the Antivan ambassador so looked forward to the afternoon tea and chat—well, really, more like a gossip session about members of various noble houses they knew in common—that she and Antonia shared whenever they could make the time.

Coming down from her quarters, Antonia walked out into the gardens. It was late fall and yet the plants were still in full bloom. The gardener had heartily concurred with Antonia's plan to focus on herbs for the kitchen and plants to be used in healing and in making potions, and the garden smelled divine. The scents of rosemary and basil, elfroot and the surprisingly pleasant seaside odor of spindleweed wafted through the air as she passed among them, and Antonia found herself smiling for the first time that day.

In the little pavilion across the garden, she spied Dorian. The mage must have found someone foolish enough to play chess with him, she thought, changing course to go see how the game was going. Not that she needed to wonder: Dorian would be winning. Dorian always won—except when he played with her. Antonia had spent a lot of time alone at a chess board, studying, in her childhood. Advantages to being bookish and alone, she thought, although she wasn't sure if she would have said the same at the time. It had been quite a solitary way to grow up.

To her surprise, as she drew closer, she recognized Cullen as Dorian's partner. Her steps—and her pulse—sped up. It was quite rare to find Cullen out of his office in the middle of the day like this, and she'd had no idea he played. She wondered how badly Dorian was beating him.

"Gloat all you want," Cullen was saying. "I have this one."

"Are you … _sassing_ me, Commander? I didn't know you had it in you."

Cullen sighed. "Why do I even—" Then he spied her coming toward them. With his innate courtesy, he started to rise from his seat. Dorian, naturally, did not—he didn't even spare Antonia a glance. For which she was grateful. No doubt he would have smirked, and she would have blushed, and really, that was the last thing she needed.

"Leaving, are you?" he said instead to Cullen. "Does this mean I win?"

At Antonia's wave of the hand, indicating they shouldn't stop playing on her account, Cullen retook his seat. "All right. Your move." He leaned forward, focusing on the board.

"You should prepare for my inevitable victory," Dorian said. "You'll feel much better." He moved a piece, and Cullen smiled broadly.

"Really? Because I just won." He placed the winning piece, then leaned back and grinned at Dorian. "And I feel fine."

To his credit, Dorian took the rare loss like a gentleman, giving Cullen a respectful nod of the head before getting out of his chair. "Don't get smug," he said over his shoulder. "There'll be no living with you. Antonia, my dear, I will see you later." He winked at her as he went past.

Cullen reached out to begin picking up the pieces. "I should return to my duties. Unless …" He looked up at her as though it had just occurred to him that she might play. "Unless you would care for a game?"

"Prepare the board, Commander." She took a seat. Perhaps sitting over a chess board wasn't the best way to work out the kinks in her muscles after a morning of sitting over a desk, but this was an invitation she couldn't pass up.

"I didn't know you played."

"Oh, when I was a child," she said, deliberately breezy. "I didn't know you played, either—especially not well enough to beat our resident expert." She didn't play often in public, as opposed to Dorian, who was willing to challenge—and win against—anyone.

"I used to play with my sister." Cullen's hands moved quickly, deftly setting the pieces back in order. "She would get this stuck-up look on her face whenever she won, which was _all_ the time." He smiled at the memory. "There." The board in place, he sat back. "Your move, Inquisitor."

"Have I mentioned that I wish you would call me by my name? I think we've known each other long enough to be able to let go of the formality occasionally."

"Only three times in the last two days." He smiled, countering her opener with a classic response.

"And yet you persist in not using it."

"Does anyone?"

"Dorian. Josephine, sometimes. Vivienne." Cullen made an unexpected move with one of his pieces and Antonia frowned. "How interesting."

"Have you seen that gambit before? I found it in a book in Kirkwall's library."

She had, but rarely. Antonia looked at the board, calculating moves. "So, your sister—did you ever beat her?"

"My brother and I both worked hard at it. She was so insufferable about winning all the time. The look on her face when I finally won— Ah." He studied Antonia's return move. "Not what I expected."

"I aim to surprise."

"You often do," he said, half under his breath. He moved another piece, sitting back. Thoughtfully, he said, "Between serving with the Templars and the Inquisition, I haven't seen them all in years. I wonder if she still plays."

"How many siblings do you have?"

"Two sisters and a brother."

"Where are they now?"

"They moved to South Reach after the Blight," he said. "I don't write to them as often as I should. What of your family? I know you haven't seen them since you joined the Inquisition, but were you close before?"

"Not particularly. My siblings are all much older than I; they were already married and had children by the time I was old enough."

As they played, both being increasingly careful as they recognized the ability of the other, she told him about Wintersend parties at the estate, when her brother and sisters would come and she would be in charge of her nieces and nephews, and of the loneliness when they all went away again. Cullen, in his turn, told her about fishing and hunting with his brother and of putting dead fish in his sister's bed, and about the way his sister had held his hand when he was in bed sick with a fever.

Antonia told him about her first hunting expedition and how her normally fairly distant father had held her when she cried after killing her first deer. In return, Cullen related the story of bringing home his first deer and his mother insisting that he learn how to cook the venison himself.

"You can cook?" she asked in surprise. It was not a skill she'd have imagined him having.

"Well, I could once. It's been a while since I had the chance. I'm probably very rusty at it by now." He frowned at the board. "All right, why did you do that?"

Antonia crossed her arms, smiling in satisfaction as he bent over the board, studying the placement of the pieces.

"Oh, that's why. Well, let's try this, then," Cullen said, moving another piece.

"Intriguing." As she, in her turn, studied the board, Cullen sat back, smiling. Keeping her eyes on the board to mask her interest in the question, she asked, "Did you leave anyone behind in Kirkwall?"

"No. I fear I made few friends there, and leaving the Order meant I cut ties with many of those who remained in it."

"But there was ... no one special who caught your interest?" Antonia placed her piece, still watching the board. She hoped her face wasn't flaming red. Surely by now she would have known if there was a woman waiting for him; but stranger things had happened.

"Not in Kirkwall, no." He appeared to be taking a great deal of interest in her rather pedestrian chess move. "And you? Have you left friends behind in Ostwick?"

"Really, no. My mother passed on some time ago, and my father is busy with his duties. Everyone else is fairly scattered. Most of the few friends I had made good marriages and are now entirely too busy with domestic concerns to keep up much of a correspondence."

"Were you ever—tempted toward those domestic concerns?" Antonia could have sworn he was holding his breath, waiting for her answer.

"Oh, no. I was shopped around a little, but I wasn't a particularly good catch—too studious to be ornamental for parties, not rich enough or noble enough to change the fortunes of any particular house." She spoke lightly to conceal how difficult had been the process of learning those lessons.

"You make it sound as though you had a fortunate escape."

"It's not so bad, if you find someone kind. But I'd rather be here. We do good work." She smiled at him.

"We do." He returned the smile. "And we're back to the usual topics. You know, I think this may be the longest we've ever gone without discussing the Inquisition—or related matters. To be honest, I appreciate the distraction."

"Maybe …" She hesitated. Did she want to make this particular move? On the chess board, she was confident. In her life, less so, especially since as the leader of the Inquisition, it wasn't just her life at stake if she made a misstep. But, on the other hand, if she never did anything for herself, would she really be able to maintain her level of focus? She remembered Varric saying that, long ago in Haven.

But in truth, there wasn't a lot of choice in the matter. She'd been holding on to these feelings for such a long time, she couldn't help but say something. "Maybe we could spend more time together—not talking about the Inquisition."

Cullen paused in the act of putting his piece down, looking up at her in pleased surprise. "I would like that."

Her next piece was placed rather recklessly, she had to admit. "Me, too."

He was silent, and Antonia looked up from the board. Cullen's eyes were on her face, studying her, and there was a wonder in his expression that said her comments had been a revelation to him. "You said that," he reminded her. His voice was a caress, and Antonia shivered under its touch. She couldn't have looked away if she'd wanted to, and she certainly didn't want to.

Cullen was the first to turn back to the chess board. "We should … finish our game. Right? I believe it's my move."

"Yes. Yes, it is."

It was hard to focus on the chess game after that moment, but Antonia did her best. Early on, she had given some thought to letting Cullen win—but she had never pretended to be less than she was with him, and she didn't think it would say good things about her if she started now. And she was proud of her ability at the game—losing too easily now would be all too noticeable in a later match.

After a few more moves, it was clear to both of them that she was going to win. To his credit, while Cullen seemed surprised to be losing, he wasn't at all upset about it. "You know some tactics I haven't seen before. It looks like you took this one."

Antonia smiled. "You gave me far more of a challenge than I'd anticipated."

"Thank you. Perhaps we'll have to do this again sometime."

She very much wanted to do it again—and more. Antonia couldn't remember when she'd spent a more enjoyable hour. "We're leaving for ..." With his eyes on her, she couldn't for the life of her remember where she was going. "Somewhere … tomorrow, but we'll be back by Thursday. Maybe we can play again then?"

"Good. That gives me time to study. Don't expect me to go so easy on you next time, Inquisitor."

"Best of luck to you, Commander. I haven't lost a chess game since I was twelve."

"That's big talk."

"Just telling the truth." She grinned at him.

Leaving the board set up for the next players, they walked across the garden together, slowly, neither in a hurry to go back to work. "Have you remembered where you're going tomorrow?"

"The Exalted Plains. See? I knew it would come to me."

"I'm sorry you have to spend so much time out there, putting yourself forward. Especially with your style of fighting—you're always in the thick of the combat."

"That's true, but it's the way I like it. I wouldn't want to hang back. Besides, I think it's good for the people to see me, to know that I am personally out there fighting on their behalf. It makes the Inquisition seem like part of what the people are doing, rather than just another high and mighty group trying to govern without knowing the people they claim to speak for."

"That's a good point." Cullen turned to look at her. "Would it be … forward of me to say that I pray to Andraste for your safety while you're gone?"

"Not forward at all. I need as many prayers as I can get." _Especially yours_, she thought, but didn't say. It felt like too much.

They were standing very close to one another. A small step and she could be in his arms, enfolded in that ridiculous fur-collared cape he wore, lifting her face to his ...

"Inquisitor!" Antonia looked around to find Josephine beckoning to her.

As one, she and Cullen each took a hasty step backward.

"Until Thursday?" she asked.

"I will be looking forward to it."

Antonia crossed the courtyard to Josephine. "So, Inquisitor, how was your chess game?" the Antivan said archly.

"Not another word, Josephine."

"If you say so."


	14. Not Talking about the Inquisition

_Thanks for reading, all! _

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><p><em>22 Harvestmere, 9:41<em>

Cullen sopped up the last of the stew in his bowl with his bread and washed it down with the last of his tea. He rolled up the report he had been reading over his dinner and prepared to get up to go back to his office. It was the tail end of the dinner hour, but mostly for him that just meant there would be fewer interruptions—this quiet part of the night was often his most productive.

It seemed to surprise most people that the Inquisition served most of its meals in this buffet-style fashion, where people came and sat and ate at their convenience, rather than formalized meals, but Antonia had specifically set it up that way, so that no one had to miss a meal or drop what they were doing to make a scheduled meal. There were set hours when breakfast, lunch, tea, and dinner were served, and there were baskets of fruits and rolls available during off hours. Cullen admired the plan; he thought it encouraged more relaxed meals and showed a lot of consideration for the differing roles and work hours of those who lived in Skyhold.

Just as he was going to take his bowl and cup to the sideboard and stack them with the rest of the dishes, Antonia appeared, balancing a bowl of stew, a cup of tea, and a plate of bread precariously. She breathed an audible sigh of relief when she put them all down without spilling anything, then looked at his empty bowl.

"Oh. You're finished." There was unmistakable disappointment in her voice.

Cullen's heart leaped at the idea that she was disappointed because she'd been looking forward to sitting with him; sternly he told himself that was ridiculous, and that she no doubt had something Inquisition-related to talk about.

"I'm sorry, was there anything you wanted to discuss before I go?" he asked courteously.

"No, nothing in specific." She sat down, the words coming out of her in a rush. "I just thought—we did say it would be nice to spend more time together not talking about the Inquisition, and here I am, and here you are, and I thought what good timing. But," she gestured to his report, "you've got things to do. Don't let me keep you."

"Really?" His voice was soft and full of wonder, and Antonia had to remind herself to breathe at the sound of it. "That is, I ... don't have to go right this moment. I could, um, stay, if you like."

Yes, she liked. She liked very much. But she forced herself to stay casual. "Would you? I hate to eat alone, and it's hard enough to find a time when neither of us is busy."

"Let me just get another cup of tea."

She looked down at the stew, which had an odd greyish color. When he came back, mug of tea in hand, she said, "Can I ask you something? What, exactly, is this I'm eating?"

He chuckled. "That is a Fereldan Saturday night stew—everything left over from the week's meals, with some gravy and peas to thicken it."

"Well, I have to say, that's what it looks like."

"It might be an acquired taste," Cullen admitted. "My mother made it every week ... although I confess the cooks here do a better job. Not that I would ever say that to my mother." He smiled.

Antonia nodded with an answering smile, picking up her bread and dipping the corner in the stew. She took the bite, considering it as she chewed. "Not bad. Could use some salt."

Cullen passed her the little salt cellar. "What type of food do they eat in Ostwick?"

"I wouldn't know; on the estate we had an Orlesian cook, so we ate a lot of Orlesian foods. Chicken, vegetables, complicated sauces. I didn't actually spend a lot of time in Ostwick itself, and the nobility pride themselves on their exotically trained chefs, so the dinners I attended had everything from Qunari raw fish dishes to spicy Antivan delicacies." She eyed the stew again. "I suppose it's not surprising that there were never any Fereldan dishes on the menu."

"On behalf of my homeland, may I say ... actually, that really isn't a surprise." He smiled, and Antonia laughed.

"Have you ever been to Ostwick?"

"I'm afraid not. I've never been farther north than Kirkwall."

"Do you have any interest in more travel, once the war is over?" She dug into the stew, which was bland but inoffensive once she forgot the color.

"I don't know. I suppose so, eventually, but mostly I'd like to go to South Reach and see my family, and spend some time in Ferelden again, getting to know the country now that the Blight is over. Apparently I'm a dreadful homebody."

"I don't think there's anything wrong with that—not if you have a place to call home that feels like one."

"So you aren't in a hurry to go back to Ostwick?"

"Oh, no. The estate was nice, but Skyhold is much better. More people, more to do, much more interesting."

"And what have you thought of Ferelden so far, Inquisitor?"

She looked at him with a not-amused eyebrow arched, and Cullen wondered frantically what he had said.

"Cullen. Part of not talking about the Inquisition is you _not_ calling me Inquisitor."

"Oh. All right, then ..." He hesitated for a moment. "Antonia."

It sounded as good as she had always thought it would; she wanted to close her eyes and arch her back into the sound like a cat being petted. "Much better," she said, her voice coming out more huskily than she'd intended.

There was a softness and a warmth in his eyes that hadn't been there a moment ago, and she found it very hard to look away.

As usual, Cullen was the first to break the look, clearing his throat. "So you didn't travel much, either, then? I always think you must have had so many more opportunities than I did to see the world, but apparently not."

"No. Because I was dedicated to the Chantry, my parents didn't want to show me a world I could never really be part of, so they kept me home. They meant it well, and I think were fond enough of me, but they certainly weren't concerned with broadening my horizons." She looked at him with curiosity. "Did your parents always intend you to be a Templar?"

Cullen shook his head. "Not at all. My father wanted my brother and myself to stay and help with the farmhold, but I was never well suited to that." He told her about making a pest of himself hanging around the Chantry, getting the Templars to teach him things, and about how long it took him to convince his parents to let him join the Order.

As she listened, she leaned her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand, her beautiful brown eyes fixed on his face with a look of warmth that made it very hard for him to concentrate on what he was saying.

It had been a long time since he had talked about himself this much, if he ever had, but she kept asking him questions and he kept answering, until they both looked around the room and noticed that the lamps were low, the tables were cleared, and everyone else—even Varric—appeared to be gone.

"I suppose I should say good-night, then," Antonia said, getting up.

"Shall I walk you to your door?" Cullen got up, too, wishing he could just keep talking to her, hearing her voice and watching her face and just being close to her.

"That door?" she gestured with her head to the far corner of the room, where the door to her quarters was. "I think I'll be okay getting there on my own." She smiled at him. "Maybe I should walk you to your door."

"I don't think there's any need for that." And more was the pity, too, he thought.

"All right, then. Good-night, Cullen." She made sure to tip her face toward him, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he would kiss her.

Cullen wanted to kiss her; he wasn't certain if he'd ever wanted anything as much. But she remained the Inquisitor. She remained ... more than he had any right to ask for. He settled for, "Good-night—Antonia."

She reached out, her hand closing briefly on his upper arm, and then she was gone, leaving Cullen to wonder what that had meant. She had never touched him before, not deliberately like that, and he very much wanted her to do it again. It was ridiculous, he told himself—he was closing in on forty years old, he had bedded a number of women, and yet this one made him feel as tongue-tied and awkward as he had been at eighteen. She must think him—well, he didn't want to consider what she must think of him.

Antonia paused in her doorway, watching him walk out of the room. Subtlety, she decided, was simply not going to get her anywhere. She'd have to be direct. As soon as she worked up the nerve.


	15. Sister Leliana's Report

_Here we go, everyone! Thanks to all of you for reading - you brighten my day. Special thanks to the guests who left reviews on the last chapter, since I can't thank them personally. _

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><p><em>25 Harvestmere, 9:41<em>

Antonia kept up a running pep talk for herself all the way through the inside of the keep. Silently, of course—she didn't want it getting around that the Herald of Andraste talked to herself. But sometimes, there was no one more knowledgeable about the situation.

"You've waited long enough," one side said.

"He's still trying to get a handle on his issues with the lyrium, and what if you're wrong and he's not interested?" said the other.

"Please," said the first. "Of course he's interested."

The first side was silent on the subject of the lyrium, and neither side particularly wanted to broach that topic with Cullen. Especially when there were so many other topics she wanted to discuss with him, chief of which was how much she wanted—needed, really—to tell him how she felt. How many months had it been of trying not to stare at him at meals and in the War Room, of trying not to think of him when she went to bed at night, of trying not to replay in her head everything he had said to her that day? 'Too many' seemed like a reasonable answer. It was distracting, was what it was, and they could not afford for the Inquisitor to be distracted. Or so she told herself, and both sides seemed to accept that argument.

"Right, then," she muttered, opening the door and stepping out into the sunshine. His office was right upstairs, and this was really happening.

It helped that he smiled when she came in. "This is a surprise. What can I do for you, Inquisitor?"

It did not help that there were two soldiers and three of Leliana's operatives in the room, some looking at books and maps and two having a quiet discussion in a corner.

"I … did have something I wanted to talk to you about, but— Could we speak alone?"

"Alone?" he said, clearly a bit flustered by the suggestion. Standing up, he glanced toward the door. "Of course. Shall we … walk?"

They moved along to a more distant part of the battlements that was usually clear this time of day. Antonia kept trying to nerve herself up to say what she had come to say, but it was difficult to do. She kept telling herself they weren't quite alone yet.

Cullen glanced at her several times, waiting for her to speak, rubbing his neck in the way he had when he was nervous. Finally, he said, "It's a … nice day."

"What?"

"It's …" He evidently decided to give up on the small talk. "There was something you wished to discuss."

There was really no way to do this but straight on. "Cullen, you must know how I feel about you."

Cullen blinked, looking away over the mountains surrounding Skyhold. "Do I?"

"Perhaps I've been more subtle than I thought." Antonia frowned. Despite all the times she had considered making this move, she was still shy about coming right out and being blunt about it. "I— I want to be with you."

He took a deep breath. "I ... can't say I haven't wondered what it would be like."

Well, that was promising. She turned to face him. "What's stopping you?"

"You're the Inquisitor. We're at war! And you …" He shook his head, but he was hovering very near her, his eyes on hers as though she might disappear if he looked away. "I didn't think it was possible."

"And yet I'm still here," Antonia said. She leaned back against the wall, her heart pounding, as Cullen moved closer. Much closer, until she could feel the heat of his body against her.

"So you are." His hands settled on her hips, pressing her back against the battlements. He had never touched her before; his hands were so warm, almost hot. Antonia could feel her body heating, melting into his, her head tilting back in anticipation of his long-awaited kiss. "It seems too much to ask. But I want to—" he said in a low tone that made her quiver. She could feel his breath on her lips, and they parted in anticipation. In just another second—

"Commander!"

The voice startled them both. Cullen groaned, taking his hands away from her hips reluctantly as he turned toward the soldier who was hurrying along down the battlement with a report in his hand. Antonia closed her eyes, sighing. She should have waited, she told herself. Only an idiot tried to take the Commander of the Inquisition away from his duties in the middle of the day. Clearly they would have to try this again later. But, Maker, to have come that close—

"You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana's report," the soldier said, gasping for breath.

"What?" Cullen snapped.

Antonia smothered a smile. She wouldn't want to be that soldier right now.

"Sister Leliana's report. You wanted it delivered 'without delay'." The man looked at Cullen, then at Antonia, who averted her face, torn between embarrassment and irritation. The soldier's face paled, his blue eyes bugging out of his head. So much for privacy—it would be all over the keep by teatime. "Or … to your office … right." The soldier backed away a few steps and then turned and fled. Cullen stood watching him until he was gone. Antonia couldn't see his face, but she'd have bet quite a few sovereigns that he was glaring.

When the soldier disappeared inside the empty guardhouse, closing the door behind him, Antonia said, "If you need to—"

And then she couldn't speak at all, because Cullen was kissing her, hard, as if it was his last chance. His hands were on either side of her jaw, holding her head still firmly but gently. Antonia could only stand frozen in surprise for a moment, unable to believe this was really happening, at last. And then she caught the edges of his cape to hold herself up and to pull herself against him, and she kissed him back.

Cullen let his hands fall, moving back just enough to look at her. "I'm sorry …" he said, as though the suddenness had surprised him, too. "That was … um … really nice." He breathed the last two words so softly she could barely hear them.

Antonia couldn't believe he was apologizing. She met his eyes, smiling. "That was what I wanted," she said emphatically.

"Oh." An answering smile spread across his face. "Good." Sure of himself—and her—now, he slid an arm around her waist, pulling her close, and bent his head for another kiss. Slower, now, taking their time to savor the moment, tongues touching, exploring one another's mouths. Antonia could have been in the Deep Roads for all she knew of the world outside of his arms, or all she cared.

Finally, Cullen broke the kiss. "Someone is going to come looking for one of us eventually," he said with a regretful sigh. "Not that I couldn't stand right here with you pretty much forever."

"I suppose that wouldn't be productive."

"No." He looked down at her, stroking the side of her face with two fingers. "Maker. Are you sure you're real?"

She turned her head and bit his fingertip, gently, smiling at him.

"Ouch. All right, I suppose I'm convinced." Cullen kept his arm around her waist, not wanting to let go of her. "To say that this is not what I expected today would bring me when I got up this morning would be an understatement."

"It almost didn't. I've talked myself out of this several times on the way over to your office."

"Were you … not sure?"

"No, I was sure. I've been sure. But if I said something and it—didn't go well, then it would have been very awkward sitting across from you in the War Room." She chuckled.

"You think it won't be now? I mean, it's always been difficult not to look at you, but after today—" He gave a little moan in the back of his throat. "For that matter, I have a desk full of paperwork waiting for me, and I'm not going to be able to concentrate on that, either." He was smiling, though, his eyes warm and happy.

Antonia said archly, "Perhaps I should apologize."

"Don't you dare."

They stayed where they are for a long moment, looking into one another's eyes, before Cullen said at last, "All right. This time I'm really going."

"If you have to. Can we, um, do this again sometime?"

"Count on it."


	16. Unbelievable

_Hey, it's Friday! Getting to share this story with you always brightens my day. Thanks for reading!_

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><p><em>25 Harvestmere, 9:41<em>

Cullen leaned on the wall of the battlement, looking up into the night sky. It was cold up here, but he was Fereldan—cold didn't bother him much. And tonight, nothing could bother him at all. He could almost feel the warmth of Antonia's body on the wall, the same one she had been leaning against earlier today.

If he closed his eyes, he could still taste her kiss, still feel her small calloused hand on his face, still smell the scent of the soap she used, a mix of rosemary and embrium the gardener made especially for her. Just for a moment, he let himself relive it, feeling the warmth rising within him all over again.

He hadn't expected her to come into his office today—usually the day before she left for an expedition, she was constantly in motion making plans. The most he saw of her on those days was if she needed a map or other guidance on her destination, and in the daily War Room meeting. He had been completely unprepared for her to appear, much less for her to ask to speak to him alone.

Which was what had led him to make the nearly disastrous choice of the battlement as a place to be alone. In retrospect, he should have just kicked everyone out of his office, but it had never occurred to him; with her in front of him, watching him with those bright brown eyes, he'd been lucky he hadn't suggested the main hall.

Not that it had ended badly at all. After the interrupted kiss, what had followed had been ... wonderful. Amazing. Unbelievable. Antonia had fit as perfectly into his arms as he had imagined she might. And she kissed like—_a desire demon_, whispered an old, old voice in his head. Cullen closed his eyes again, fighting against the automatic constriction of his muscles. He hated that voice, the one that couldn't let Ferelden's Circle go, the one that always made him doubt himself and everyone around him.

Holding his breath and letting it out again, he looked up at the stars, tracing the edges of the constellations, holding on to their sameness. They were his anchor on the long nights when the need for the lyrium kept him awake, pacing these same battlements over and over again, checking in with his men on watch.

Inevitably, his thoughts turned back to her, and to those kisses. It had been a long time since he'd been with anyone—the last time had been with an energetic and lonely Lowtown widow who owned a tailoring shop, several weeks before the destruction of Kirkwall's Chantry and the ensuing chaos. In the weeks after the Chantry exploded, there had been no time and certainly no inclination, and when he joined the Inquisition as its commander, he had made the decision to put all that aside as long as was necessary in favor of the work before him. Not just because of the work, but because Haven was very small. There would have been no opportunity without opening himself up to vulnerabilities that were not in keeping with his position.

Additionally, Cullen was concerned about the effect having given up the lyrium would have. Even with lyrium, it had been difficult for him to allow himself to be touched without thinking of the demons in the tower; he generally preferred to give pleasure rather than receive it because of that, and without lyrium he imagined the effort of keeping his focus on the present in an intimate situation would be much more difficult than he was used to.

And he certainly had not been looking for ... emotion. Once upon a time, back in the Circle, before—everything happened, he had been young, idealistic, wishing for that connection. He had even imagined himself in love once, but that had ended badly. Afterward … he hadn't particularly wanted to open himself up to that kind of vulnerability again, and hadn't been sure he could trust it if he did. He still wasn't sure how much he could trust, as much as he wanted to.

Then, just as he had been settling in to a routine in Haven, one defined by work ... Antonia fell out of the sky. At first, his concern had been for her comfort—she had been so frightened and unsure of herself to begin with, he had wanted to make her feel better. But he had enjoyed their conversations more than he had initially thought he might, and he had come to admire her courage in the face of a situation in which a lesser woman would have given up.

They had become comfortable with each other surprisingly quickly, her quick wit and her thoughtfulness bringing him out of the careful routine of work, work, and more work he had been trying to build for himself. And then, one day, she had made a joke, and Cullen had looked down into her sparkling brown eyes, and ... everything changed. He hadn't known it at the time, but he had been lost.

At the time he remembered having thought with some surprise how beautiful she was, and wondering how it was that he had never noticed before. But of course, such thoughts were ridiculous, he had told himself, and he had exerted himself to quash them. It was an effort that had proved futile from the beginning, as every day brought him some new reason to respect, admire, and care for her.

Sometime after the fall of Haven, he had been forced to admit that he had gone beyond simply caring for her—that he was hopelessly in love with her. Hopeless insofar that he couldn't have stopped if he'd wanted to; hopeless further insofar as his expectations had been concerned. She was young, she was beautiful, she was in a position of great power, she was extraordinary in so many ways. And he was ... not in her league.

Cullen wasn't insensible to the way women looked at him; he had taken advantage of those looks more than once in his past. But he had never in his life cared for a woman the way he cared for her, never measured all of himself, not just the physical, against the yardstick of what one particular woman deserved. He had done that now, and found himself far from deserving.

Feeling that way, Cullen had tried to keep from fantasizing about her ... but he might as well have tried to dam up the Waking Sea. Because he ached to hold her, to kiss her, to touch her intimately and watch her face as pleasure marked it, and if he ever expected to get anything done, that ache required release. But even as he was unable to stop himself from thinking of her like that, he was relieved in some ways that it wasn't possible. Between the lack of lyrium and the consequent increase in the ghosts that haunted him and the way she tempted him to look at her and to think of her ... he was afraid of what could happen if he ever was in a position of intimacy with her, afraid of the shadowy things that lurked in his own mind.

Until today, those fears had been vague and formless, but suddenly, unbelievably, now they had become possibilities. Part of him thought it had been a mistake to have kissed her in the first place, but he defied any man living to have her there in front of him, her lips parted and her eyes fixed on him, and not have kissed her. Certainly Cullen couldn't have walked away from her, even if he had wanted to.

And now his thoughts were full circle again, back to reliving those moments of her in his arms, her small strong hand closing on the back of his neck, her fingers playing in his hair while her tongue met his so boldly, so passionately.

He groaned just thinking of it. Across the courtyard, he could just see the lights coming from her quarters above him, and he had to admit, if he hadn't known tonight was her diamondback game with her companions, he might have been sorely tempted to go over there and ask for more. More kisses, at least. The rest would have to wait until he was sure of her, sure of himself and his ability to control the fears that sometimes took him.

He could dimly hear a shout of laughter from the card game, and he wondered which companion had made the joke.

Part of him envied them—they saw a side of Antonia, and of the Inquisition in general, that he never had the chance to. It was the same feeling he'd had in Kirkwall when Hawke would come by, wishing he could go away and adventure with them, just once, to see what it was like.

It was astonishing, when you thought about it—his life had been touched by three of the greatest heroes of his generation, but he had only been at the periphery of their adventures. Even here at Skyhold, he was in no doubt about his overall importance to the Inquisition, but he wasn't out there with his sword, fighting the bandits and the demons and the creatures that Antonia and her companions faced so often.

He couldn't help comparing them with each other. Thomas Amell, the Hero of Ferelden, had been one of the Circle's quietest and most studious mages. Had you told Cullen back when he first met the other boy—they were of an age, even if one of them wore mage robes and the other Templar armor—that Thomas would save the world by killing a tainted dragon, he would have laughed.

Evelyn Hawke was a beautiful woman, tall and statuesque and powerful, and he had entertained thoughts of her beauty on a number of occasions. He had even taken her out to dinner once, although it had been rather a distaster; she had been very bored, despite her attempts to conceal it.

And now, Antonia Trevelyan. Who was warm and funny and brave and beautiful and strong, and who just hours ago had kissed him on this very battlement as though they were the only two people in the world. Cullen shuddered at the memory, closing his eyes and feeling again that deep, sweet ache in the pit of his stomach. It was going to be a very long wait for her to get home.


	17. Diamondback

_Thanks to all of you for reading! _

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><p><em>25 Harvestmere, 9:41<em>

Antonia surveyed her quarters, making sure everything was in readiness. Trays of sandwiches, cookies, fruits, and vegetables. Her private cellar fully stocked with wine and ale. Table and chairs set up, diamondback cards prepared.

Since moving to Skyhold, company drinking night had become company diamondback night—the virtue of diamondback being that usually Dorian's skill at all games and Varric's expert cheating tended to cancel each other out, leaving some space for someone else to win every once in a while. Of course, it was usually the Iron Bull, so there was an argument to be made that things hadn't improved much for the rest of them.

They always held the game in Antonia's quarters because they were larger and more spacious than anyone else's, and far more private. Roya, the dwarf who was assigned to take care of Antonia's quarters—and Antonia herself, for that matter—tended to grumble about the mess that was made, but she had helped make the preparations with care.

"All right, my lady, I think everything's ready for those barbarians of yours," Roya said.

"Dorian wouldn't thank you for calling him that."

Roya sniffed. "Tevinter's a mere child compared to the dwarven kingdoms. My people have forgotten more than his ever knew."

It was a debate Dorian and Roya had had more than once, and neither one would concede the other's points. Antonia smiled. "I'll tell him you said so."

"Don't stay up too late, my lady. You have an early morning tomorrow."

"I know." They were off to the Western Approach in the morning. Antonia hadn't considered when she went to Cullen's office this morning how much she would hate having to leave the next day, having just discovered the magic of being in his arms. Thinking about those kisses, she closed her eyes, reliving the moment.

"And you had a long day, so I hear." Roya's dry voice was teasing.

Antonia's eyes flew open. "You heard about that?"

Roya chuckled. "Good night, my lady." Her footsteps down the stairs were replaced shortly by the Iron Bull's heavier footfalls coming up. He was arguing with Cassandra over the best way to sharpen a sword.

"I say, you hit things with it! Sharp things."

"You are a fool. Good evening, Inquisitor."

Vivienne was the next one up, with Dorian and Varric right behind her. Blackwall came occasionally now, but he had passed this evening. The ghosts that haunted him were too loud today, it seemed. Solas preferred to be alone, and Cole wasn't clear on the rules—not of diamondback, or of spending time with large groups of people. Sera always said she didn't like a game with such straightforward tactics. But Cassandra was cut-throat, taking on the game with the same intensity she displayed for all the other aspects of her life.

Everyone filled a plate of food and got something to drink, and then they ranged around the big round table. Varric deftly shuffled the cards.

"Why is he dealing first?" Cassandra protested. "He cheats."

"Hey, Seeker, I have to deal sometime."

"That's debatable."

"My dears, must we begin this squabbling so early in the evening? You will run out of insults." Vivienne sighed, taking a slow, appreciative sip of her wine.

"Don't be ridiculous. I have lists of insults—I memorize them at night before I go to bed." Varric dealt the cards, making comments with each one to get everyone laughing so they didn't pay attention to him dealing from the middle of the deck. To no one's surprise, he won the hand.

Vivienne dealt next, efficiently and smoothly and with absolute correctness, and the game began in earnest. They were all relatively serious players, and the banter only loosely covered the fact that every one of them hoped to win big when they sat down at the table.

That was what made them a good team, Antonia thought. They went into battle with the same determination and intensity—and together, they nearly always did win big. She held her tongue, watched her cards, and bet conservatively, as usual, watching to see who was in good form.

On Dorian's deal, he accidentally dealt her first card face up. It was a king, and Dorian winked at her as she hurriedly flipped it over. Antonia repressed the urge to roll her eyes. Of course Dorian already knew what had happened earlier that day. She was surprised none of the rest of them seemed to have heard anything—maybe the soldier had been so unnerved by the situation he hadn't said anything? Or more likely, all of them knew and were just waiting for their chance.

She won the next round, raking in her winnings. The Iron Bull dealt next, and as always he pretended to have difficulty dealing the cards with his big hands. Antonia knew that was pure fakery—she wasn't sure how he got away with it, but the Iron Bull cheated even more flawlessly than Varric, purely by dint of pretending to be more Qunari than he was. He popped his eyebrow at her as the cards went around. Antonia didn't bet.

"Krem tells me there's a rumor that one of the battlements is haunted," he said.

At the word 'battlements', Antonia jumped, startled. The Iron Bull looked over at her. He was absolutely straight-faced, but there was a twinkle there deep in his eye. So Krem knew, and he'd told the Iron Bull.

"Haunted? Do tell." Dorian smirked at his cards. "What type of dread specter is it?"

"Haunted," Cassandra scoffed. "Grown men should not believe in such fairytales."

"Now, Seeker, a person doesn't have to see a thing to believe it happened." Varric was looking at his cards, but Antonia could see the corner of his mouth quirking.

Great, so he knew, too. Of course he did. Varric knew everything. And then it sunk in—she was leaving in the morning, and would be spending a week with Dorian, Varric, and the Iron Bull. She groaned. They were going to give her no peace at all.

"What is it, Herald?" Varric asked. "Something disagree with you?"

"No doubt it's that ale she drinks," Vivienne said. "Everyone knows the less expensive the libations, the more difficult they are to digest."

The Iron Bull scoffed at that. "Ridiculous. My men drink booze brewed from their dirty socks, and get up and slaughter a whole crew of beefy bandits the next day."

"A crew of beefy bandits?" Dorian asked. "Bull, have you been reading those rhyming picture books again?"

"Can you all just shut up and play the game?" Cassandra snapped.

"See why I didn't want to invite her? She's scary," the Iron Bull complained.

The conversation descended from there into the usual round of friendly insults, and the game ended early due to tomorrow's expedition. Vivienne and Cassandra left together, wishing the rest of them safe travels. Dorian and the Iron Bull were deep in a discussion about a battle in the Qunari/Tevinter war, and they argued their way loudly down the stairs.

Varric stayed behind and helped Antonia straighten up.

"You know, Roya will do this tomorrow. She's looking forward to having me gone for a week so she can do a deep cleaning." Antonia shook her head. "I think she loves to clean more than anything else."

"From what I've heard, growing up in Orzammar's Dust Town leaves you one of two ways—dead, or relentlessly neat. Sometimes both." Varric stacked up the plates on the table. "So I heard Commander Loverboy practically bit that poor kid today."

"I think that's a bit of an overstatement." Antonia blushed.

"Did he really catch you in a compromising position?"

"No." Remembering the bitter disappointment of that moment, the sudden loss of the warmth of Cullen's body against hers, Antonia remarked with some asperity, "He caught us just _before_ the compromising position."

Varric's eyebrows flew up practically to his hairline, and he laughed uproariously. "Seriously, you can't write shit like that. There you are, there's the commander, the unresolved sexual tension so thick you can cut it with a knife, and then that poor sod comes along waving a report at exactly the perfectly wrong time. He's lucky he lived to tell the tale."

"Are you quite finished?" But Antonia couldn't stop the smile that was tugging at the corners of her mouth. It had been rather funny, and it had worked out in the end, after all. She laughed along with Varric.

"Think what a story you'll have to tell your grandchildren."

"Let's assume that your ridiculous jump forward in time has any basis in fortune-telling, and allow for the possibility of those grandchildren, Varric—am I really likely to tell them a story that has the words 'unresolved sexual tension' in it?"

"Come on, Herald, I'm sure you'll be quite the grandmother. Teaching them sword stances, telling them risque stories ..."

"I'll leave those to you. Hawke and I will work out an arrangement to share you."

"That's sweet. I suppose I should be glad you're not planning to cut me down the middle and each take half."

"She gets the mouthy half," Antonia said dryly.

"Only if you can figure out which half that is." Varric grinned at her. "Was it everything you hoped for, Herald?"

"Oh, yes."

"Then I leave you to your dreams." He bowed.

"Good-night." She watched him go. Hastily, she finished straightening up then got into bed, closing her eyes to more vividly relive every word, every touch. The ensuing dreams were sweet, indeed.


End file.
